


Recalcitrance

by Jamberine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-07 08:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 101,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/428850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamberine/pseuds/Jamberine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance Part I: Defiance  
Chapter 1

'Capture'  
.

They were in Knockturn Alley of all places, its dark twisting passage strikingly similar to the scaly back of a slithering snake. It twisted and wound around violently, the dark cobbled street encrusted with dirt and the glittering green remnants of liquor bottles. The foreboding shops that created a canyon in the single alleyway fashioned ominous shadows within the dark confines, dark figures lingering just beyond the edges of one's vision.

The occasional rustle of someone's cloak would trickle past, footsteps, nearly silent, muffled against the dirt that cloaked the cobbled walkway. No one stopped to chat to one another, eye contact wasn't met, and physical contact was avoided at all costs. If you did accidentally bump into someone you would most likely be found seconds later pressed against a dark wall with a wand at your throat.

The insides of the shops were barely visible through the dark tinted windows that needed to be cleaned of what seemed an accumulation of year's worth of dust, sometimes even the odd splattering of some form of dried liquid. Sometimes such liquid was a dark, crusted red. Blood, most likely. You would only be able to see inside the shops if you pressed your nose against the glass, and cupped your face with your hands so there wasn't any extra light hitting your eyes. This was probably due to owners not wanting stragglers looking into their shops. Their customers would know where to go, not flounder outside and look in. This wasn't a place for window shopping.

And this was where Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves late one March afternoon. Why you ask? Well, because Ron wanted to, and Harry and Hermione didn't want him to do something stupid and end up in more trouble than could be avoided if they were there with him. He was a curious young man, to the point of stupidity even, and he had always wanted to be the first of the Weasley children to defy their terrifying mother's order to not turn down that dark alleyway. Well, congratulations Ron, you did it.

"Can we please go back now?" pleaded Hermione in a harsh whisper as she trotted behind the excited red head.

Ron turned back to her, his eyes alight with excitement and grinned goofily. "Aw, come on Herms, loosen up."

"No, I will not loosen up," she hissed, getting more agitated by the second. "We're not meant to be down here! Ron, please-"

"Ssh."

Hermione fell silent for a few seconds, her mouth agape indignantly.

"Don't shush me you-"

"Ssh!" he hissed again, waving his hand at her as if she were an annoying fly.

Hermione huffed, but didn't reply. She pulled the collar of her cloak higher up around her neck, needing something to do with her hands before she started fidgeting too much, and stuffed them deep into her pockets. She scanned the shadows, noting how many human shaped darker splotches there were that seemed to stick to the shadows. In fact, she noticed that no one person, apart from the three of them, was walking straight down the middle of the alleyway. She frowned and set her jaw, the cogs in her mind making links to random facts that she was picking up with each passing second as she observed the alleyway.

Suddenly she grabbed Ron's collar and dragged him silently into the shadows of the alleyway, that was, until Ron started to protest.

"Hey, what do you-" he groused loudly.

Hermione's face scrunched up painfully at his noticeable behaviour, and quickly reached up and clamped her hand over his mouth, resulting in his muffled protest.

"Shut it," she hissed, and waited til he quietened down. "People here don't walk right down the middle of the damn alleyway. If we're going to be down here the least we can do is not draw attention to ourselves, you fool."

Ron nodded silently and drew her hand away from his mouth with a grumble, "you could've warned me."

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. "Just go have your fun so we can get out of here."

Ron tutted. "You're such a prude, Hermione."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but quickly shut it, her jaw aching as she grinded her teeth together, wishing for some modicum of self control.

' _I will not hit him, I will not hit him, I will not hit him, I will not hit him,'_ she chanted in her head, her eyes shut so she wouldn't see the big red ape that was standing in front of her.

She opened her eyes again when she heard Harry's calm whisper.

"Hermione's right, we should go soon. It's not safe for any of us being down here."

Ron tutted again before whining loudly, "Just five more minutes, _please_. I really want to go into this shop that sells shrunken heads that apparently give you advice."

Hermione heard Harry sigh, and saw his silhouetted shoulders shift slightly. "Alright, but only five minutes."

"Yay," Ron muttered excitedly, sounding more like a five year old than a twenty year old.

He quickly scampered off, leaving Harry and Hermione to trudge after him hurriedly.

"You only let him because you're curious," she hissed angrily. "Look, wonder boy, I don't know about you, but I think that going down a Death Eater infested alleyway is the stupidest thing you could possibly do right now. You're the most famous man in Britain, wanted by the most evil man possibly to walk the earth, and now you're trudging down an alleyway that most likely holds at least one of his followers like there's nothing to worry about."

Harry merely grunted in reply and Hermione was thus rendered speechless, her mouth hanging open like a gaping fish would for air. Although they did often ignore her when she went into 'lecturing mode,' as they called it, she still became extremely vexed whenever they did so. She only lectured them when they were doing something extremely stupid. And now was one of those times.

They finally caught up to Ron when he stopped outside a particularly shady looking shop, his face slit with a goofy looking, childlike grin, and he grasped the brass doorhandle to enter the shop.

"I don't think you should go in there, Ron," Hermione cautioned wearily. This place really was giving her the creeps.

Ron sighed as if he was suffering a great deal and looked back at her with a disgruntled glare. "If you're so worried, why don't you wait out here and keep watch in case some shady person comes and tries to kidnap me like the damsel in distress you seem to think I am."

Hermione gave him an icy glare in return, folding her arms over her chest. "Fine."

"Fine."

And with that, Harry and Ron walked into the shop, leaving Hermione to scout the outsides, looking much like a lost little girl with her arms wrapped protectively around herself.

She carefully pressed her back against the wall just to make sure she wouldn't have to look behind herself as an extra safety measure. The alley was mostly quiet, eerily so, with the exception of the odd rustle of a cloak, or the odd tap of a shoe connecting with a surprisingly clean cobblestone. Dark shadows of people passing slithered and slinked around her, the dark tendrils of their cloaks swishing mysteriously.

Hermione's head snapped to her left when a bright yellow spark flashed in the corner of her eye, but found nothing to be the source. Of course there would be nothing, the alleyway was dark. Perhaps it was someone just lighting a match. There was no reason to possibly think it was a wand shooting off a spell.

She relaxed somewhat and closed her eyes, feeling the tension leave her shoulders. She rolled them experimentally and slumped more against the wall with a heavy sigh. There was no reason to fret, really. She felt really relaxed, like she was floating gently, warm water enveloping her form like a trickling brook, the stream tickling her skin, washing all her worries away gently until what was left was a haze of happiness that had no source.

A voice broke through the haze. ' _Come to me_.'

Hermione's eyes lazily opened halfway, leaving them hooded sultrily. Had anyone been looking at her specifically they might have noticed the slight milky haze that covered her irises, but alas, the only people that might have spared her a second glance were currently enthralled by the sarcastic, horrifyingly blunt shrivelled heads hanging in the shop behind her.

' _Come.'_ commanded the voice again. It was deep and gravelly, and utterly enticing.

It was easy to follow the voice, easy to remain in the haze. She was happy here, merely floating.

And so she started walking.

She vaguely wondered how her feet knew where to go, but quickly surrendered her curiosity once again as a particularly relaxing wave of nirvana washed over her. She stopped in front of a dark figure, darkness washing over their form, a solid shadow.

She was pulled into a tight grasp, and was apparated away with a pop.

-0-0-0-0-

Harry and Ron exited the dark shop, both with rather bashful faces as they went to meet up with their friend.

The heads, although entertaining to hear criticize other people, were rather blunt and dreadfully truthful. Both boys had been skinned alive with the shrivelled heads' analysis of them, and they both felt rather sorry for themselves.

Upon leaving the shop they looked around expectantly as if there was meant to be someone waiting for them.

Ron turned to Harry with a baffled and slightly weary stare. "Where's Hermione?"

-0-0-0-0-

The pair apparated in front of a white mansion.

Hermione was vaguely aware of the figure striding in front of her towards the large wrought iron gates that lead to the white building beyond them.

' _Follow.'_

Hermione's feet started moving. She was hazily aware of the gates opening, and some pretty white feathered animals trotting up to them curiously as they passed, before one was blasted away by the figures wand.

They entered the house, leaving behind a flock of screeching white peacocks scrambling around, and one bathed in red, lying completely still.

Hermione wasn't aware of how it happened, but the next thing she knew, she was in a room full of hazy, blurred people. She could faintly hear the chatter and excited screeches before she followed her dark figure to a throne with a blurred body lounging atop it.

And then the haze lifted. Hermione screamed.

Pain coursed through her body, a raging inferno burning her from the inside out, her insides bubbling and spluttering convulsively. Knives stabbed into every inch of her body, raking them across her skin and peeling it off in one fell swoop. Her head was imploding on itself, her brain shrivelling til it turned into liquid and sloshed around in her skull. Her spine snapped and shattered, each vertebrae providing shrapnel that lodged itself into her flesh.

And then it stopped.

Hermione curled in the foetal position, breathing heavily, and shaking. It was odd, the sensation of suddenly not being in pain. Usually some form of throbbing or stinging followed, but this time... nothing. The only clue of what had been was in her memory and in the sickening shudders that rolled through her curled up form.

She glanced up when she heard the hiss of Lord Voldemort himself.

"Rise, Mudblood."

Shakily, Hermione complied, rising on her elbows first, concentrating hard on making her muscles rigid or relaxed enough for them to stop shaking. Her shoulders shuddered as new strain was put on them, it was as if they themselves were expecting the pain again and were preparing for the onslaught. She then dragged herself up onto her knees slowly, shutting her eyes against the unpleasant feeling of the muscles around her spine twitching along the vertebrae. And then she was hauled roughly to her feet. Her legs crumpled slightly under the sudden need to hold her body weight.

"You will be rewarded greatly for this feat, Mulciber," hissed Voldemort, "Leave now."

Mulciber. Hermione closed her eyes, reciting what she had learned about the man, but only came up with one fact:

He was a master of the Imperius curse.

She was brought out of her thoughts when she heard the feral hiss of the most frightening man in Britain.

"Well, well, well," the Dark Lord hissed, "if it isn't the Mudblood Granger. I'm told you were found in Knockturn Alley, a shady place if there ever was, and yet you, a beacon for the light, were found there. I must admit, I am intrigued."

Hermione took a deep breath and finally stood up straight, ignoring the hisses from various people in the room that followed the action.

The Dark Lord's slitted eyes bore into hers and she met his stare bravely, her chin tilted up in defiance.

"And what, may I ask, were you doing there?" he asked lowly.

"Looking at shrivelled heads," Hermione answered bitterly, her face scrunched up in a hateful scowl.

If she ever got out of this alive she was going to beat Ron into a bloody pulp.

Voldemort's head tilted to the side curiously, his face impassive as he twirled his infamous wand through his spidery fingers. Without dropping his gaze he brought his free hand up to his side and motioned for someone to come forward with two curling fingers.

Hermione glanced over to the approaching footsteps and found only a masked figure, no face. The figure kneeled a few meters away from its master and held up a single vial filed with a clear liquid. Hermione's eyes widened.

Clear liquid. Veritaserum.

Her eyes flickered around the room like a quick excitable bird, looking for any possible exit. She found none except the door in which she was led through. She looked at the vial again and felt a wave of panic wash over her. If they got that down her throat they would be able to know anything.

So, she ran.

Quickly turning on her heel, her hair spinning around with her, Hermione sprinted wildly to the only door she knew would lead outside, only to be hit with a curse which resulted in her panting on the ground, for as soon as the pain hit her it was gone. It was like someone had flicked a light switch in rapid succession. Her muscles tensed again and she started trembling with new vigour.

She was hauled up once again, only to be shoved back in the direction she came. She stumbled over her own feet and crumpled to the floor, her chin cracking on the white marble. Hermione clutched her damaged jaw; the only hazy thought in her head was that she hoped it was broken so she wouldn't be able to speak. She was hauled up again, the screeching of a chair grinding against the floor grated on her ears. She was shoved down onto it, and had her arms drawn behind her. Before she knew what had happened, she found herself tied down, and an expectant looking Dark Lord bearing down on her, Veritaserum in hand.

She put up a good fight, she really did. She bit down on her lip so hard it bled just so she wouldn't have to open her mouth.

Unfortunately for her, Voldemort hit her, and he hit her hard. As soon as her lips opened to emit a painful gasp, the liquid was poured down her throat, and a hand clamped down on her mouth and nose. She held her breath for as long as she could, the liquid bubbled on her tongue, like she had a mouth full of aspirin in it, and it burned her cut lip.

This is what happened when Veritaserum came in contact with open wounds. It was an acidic substance, and burned away at injuries where the nerve endings were exposed. This was the only way it could be detected when administered. It was a tasteless, clear liquid with no smell. But if you had an open wound, you would definitely feel it burning. That was why, often, people wouldn't be given the substance when they had stomach ulcers or something of the like.

It was only when black spots started erupting in front of her eyes did she finally swallow.

Upon seeing the Dark Lord's satisfied expression, disgust welled up in her belly, and she cursed at her own weakness. Why couldn't she be like some three year olds who held their breath til they passed out? Surely she couldn't be weaker than some errant toddler? But no, she just had to swallow. And now they would be able to use her as a human tape recorder.

Her head fell onto her chest in defeat, her upper body weight hanging off her shoulders as she slumped forward in the chair. She was a failure.

She glanced up through her errant mass of hair when the Dark Lord hissed, "Now, Mudblood, question one..."

-0-0-0-0-

It took them nearly three hours of questioning til Voldemort was finished with her. By the end, Hermione had tear streaks, crusted and salty, running down her cheeks. Her lip was red, raw, and bloody with the effort to not answer despite the Veritaserum, and it wobbled pathetically as if teetering on an edge, threatening to tumble off into an abyss.

"You may leave now."

Hermione's head snapped up, her eyes wild and frantic.

"W-what?" she stammered, as another masked face untied her hands, which throbbed at the blood being pumped back into each finger.

"You may leave," he replied, nonchalant as he examined his fingernails.

Hermione was baffled to the point where she couldn't move. He wasn't going to kill her? The Mudblood whore of the golden trio?

He then looked up at her and gave her a cruel smile. "As enjoyable as your imminent death would be, my earlier delving into your mind resulted in a quite predictable discovery," he paused, for what seemed like effect, and raised his non-existent eyebrows in a superior manner. "Your greatest fear is abandonment, being left alone and ignored by all your peers. I know Dumbledore well enough to know that he will not take your betrayal well."

Hermione spluttered. "B-betrayal?"

Voldemort's cruel smirk grew, bordering on manic.

"Yes," he hissed, "betrayal."

And with that he raised his wand whip-like and pressed it down on her forearm.

Hermione writhed in agony for what seemed ages; her arm felt like it was being sawed off very slowly with a very small, pointed blade, small enough that it would take an age to sever the limb completely.

_Please, just let it end_ , Hermione thought frantically.

It stopped.

Eventually.

Hermione looked up, her eyes blurred with pain-filled tears and she saw her arm was red, bloody, and marked with a black tattoo. The Dark Mark.

She whimpered at the sight and felt her breathing speed up in panic.

"I won't join you!" she shrieked, looking up at him and giving him a venomous glare, "I won't!"

Voldemort's smile turned ugly, and he snarled down at her, "Do not presume me stupid, girl! I am well aware your Gryffindor tendencies disallow you to follow my ideologies. I would not accept you even if you did wish. I will not sully myself with a Mudblood, no matter how smart."

Hermione flinched away from him as he finally showed his anger outwardly.

" _Crucio_!"

Pain split over her body once more. Hermione shrieked and screamed, her eyes rolling into the back of her head til all she could see were white spots erupting against the blackness of her skull. She clawed at her skin as if trying to remove something from her flesh, and her body jerked violently, as if in a seizure.

When the curse lifted Hermione was whimpering and sobbing like a little girl.

Voldemort's voice was once again a quiet hiss, "leave. Return to your precious Dumbledore if you must, but I assure you he will turn you away like the scum you are. I will not protect you, Mudblood. No one will after this night. You are alone."

He paused and tilted his head as if pondering. Voldemort then added as an afterthought, "of course, the authorities will most likely arrest you on the grounds of being a Death Eater. Congratulations, Hermione Granger, you have just earned yourself an exclusive cell in Azkaban."

Hermione whimpered again and attempted to push herself up. She gave up once she was crouching. She was so tired.

"Leave now," was the last thing she remembered before her vision went black.

-0-0-0-0-

Hermione woke up, god knows how many hours later, under the dark night sky and the chilled wind nipping at her skin. Not even bothering to move yet, she cracked open the eye that wasn't pressed into the dirt and licked her dry, blood encrusted lips, hissing when they stung as her saliva cleaned the wounds.

Slowly, as the haze lifted from her brain, she sat up, and looked around herself. Her eyes widened minutely in fright when she noticed she had merely been dumped outside the perimeter of Malfoy Manor. She wasn't outside the gate where it would be conspicuous. She was against the wall, a cluster of trees surrounding her aching body from sight, the very tip of the great building's roof peaking in sight.

Hermione took a deep breath, and disconnected her emotions from her brain. Her over analytical mind immediately kicked into gear and the cogs started whirring. She was a traitor, but not a traitor. She had taken the mark, but not willingly. Surely Dumbledore would see that?

But what if he didn't? What if he called in Auror's or simply banished her? Where would she go?

She was brought out of her thoughts when her forearm gave a particularly painful throb. She looked down at it and her face saddened. Marring her forearm was an ugly skull tattoo with a snake slithering through its mouth and eye holes.

_No_ , she concluded. She couldn't see how Dumbledore, or anyone else for that matter, would see past the ugly black mark. She sure couldn't. She was a traitor. Even if she didn't do it willingly, she had still given a life's worth of information over to the Dark Lord, and that was unacceptable. Unforgivable.

She had surely cost many people their lives with the information she had blurted out tonight.

_'Well_ ,' she thought, ' _first things first. I need to get this cleaned before it gets infected. Then, I need to sneak into Grimmauld place to get all of my stuff. I'll go into Gringotts in the late afternoon, just before it closes, and get my full store of money before I leave. And I'll go... somewhere..._ _Russia maybe. It's very remote.'_

Hermione stood up with a new resolve, her jaw set, and the hurt she felt in her heart locked away by the sudden onset of courage she would need in order to do this without tumbling to the ground and blubbering like a little girl.

She apparated away with a crack.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance Part I: Defiance  
Chapter 2

'Escape and Recapture'  
.

Hermione hissed when her mother ran the scratchy cloth over the sensitive skin of her forearm.

Adele Granger tutted at her daughter, and gave her a withering look. "Why on Earth would you get such an ugly tattoo, dear? And of all places your forearm. You do realise when you go to job interviews you're going to have to cover it up."

Hermione sighed and nodded once more. Her mother had been asking her the same questions since she came in the house, looking dirty and ragged, with a bleeding forearm and a bruised, swelled chin.

Hermione gave the same answers every time.

"I like it," she lied, feeling the tendrils of guilt clamp down over her heart as she lied to her mother. "I figured it was as good a place as any. I get to look at it every day. And yes, I do realise others may not be as forthcoming about my _art._ " Hermione refrained from shuddering when she said the last word.

"Art?" her mother asked incredulously, her eyebrows rising. "This is not art, Hermione! This is a blemish!" to prove her point her mother grasped her daughters wrist and waved her arm around.

Hermione tried to shrug nonchalantly and murmured sadly, "too late now."

She swallowed thickly, blinking back angry tears before her mother could see any, and grasped the cloth from the older woman's hand with a short, "I can do it."

Adele gave an unladylike grunt and pushed off the chair. "I'll get you some bandages."

"Thanks mum," Hermione answered quietly, her voice subdued and quiet.

Adele, seeing her daughter's sadness, merely figured that she was a young adolescent that had made a hasty decision to get a tattoo, and was now regretting it. She most likely got it whilst drunk. Hermione would never have gotten a tattoo otherwise. That also explains why Hermione refused to tell her where she got all those bruises. She probably couldn't remember herself.

 _'Serves her right_ ,' was the only thought that entered the stern woman's mind before she left to assist her one and only daughter.

When she came back Hermione was sitting back on the chair with her eyes closed, her face turned away from the ugly tattoo that was blinking in her sight like a dark flare. It was almost as if Hermione couldn't even bare the sight of her mistake.

 _'Well_ ,' Adele thought, ' _let it be a daily reminder to not do anything rash, to think with forethought.'_

Hermione's eyes opened when Adele walked in the room, a white bandage rolled up neatly in her palm.

The silence was awkward as the pair watched Adele's nimble fingers expertly wrap the bandage around her daughter's wrist, only for it to be dropped when the tattoo moved against Hermione's skin restlessly. Hermione hissed, clutching her forearm in pain.

Hermione bit her lip again, ignoring the taste of blood on her tongue when she reopened the wound. Damn, that hurt.

 _'So this is what it feels like to be summoned_ ,' she thought idly, carefully removing her hand from her partially bandaged wrist and found that it wasn't moving anymore. She sighed in relief, and trepidation. Voldemort had planned this. Every time he summoned his servants Hermione would feel it too. The pain.

She was brought out of her musing when her mother squeaked, "did that tattoo just _move_?"

Hermione chuckled darkly. "Yeah."

"Oh," her mother sighed, looking shocked, "you're really going to have to cover that up, Hermione. I can't have your aunt and uncle coming around to see that you have a moving tattoo. It's just not done."

Hermione smiled tightly and figured this was as good a time as any to tell her she was leaving the country.

"Don't worry mum, they won't see it," she assured her, seeing her mother's posture relax, "because I'm moving to Australia."

Hermione refrained from grimacing when her mother gave her a shocked and slightly appalled look.

When Adele opened her mouth to no doubt argue, Hermione quickly cut her off with a sharp, "don't try to convince me to stay. I'm leaving this afternoon whether you like it or not."

Inside, Hermione's heart felt like it was shattering. She didn't want to go, she didn't want to be this cold to her mother, she didn't want to lie about where she was going, and she didn't want to give her a fake address.

She didn't want any of this. But it was necessary.

She could safely say that her mother was rendered speechless. Hermione supposed that she got the 'gaping fish reaction' from her mother since the older woman was doing it right now.

Quickly, she stood up, not trusting herself to stay any longer in case she changed her mind about leaving, and left without another word, hurriedly wrapping the rest of the bandage on her arm.

The last thing Adele would ever hear of her daughter was the crack like a gunshot.

-0-0-0-0-

Sneaking into Grimmauld place had been easy. It was the middle of the day, and Hermione had been sure that the boys would be out probably looking for her. It didn't help, though, that her nerves were running on high. Every squeak in the rickety, old apartment would send her heart racing. Her hands shook violently as she hurriedly collected whatever she would need from her room, and packed it in the small purse that she kept with her at all times.

Fortunately for her, when she did run into Kreacher, the old house elf merely smiled a toothless, evil grin at her.

"The master says if you were to come home I should inform him," he said before mumbling to himself, "The Mudblood shouldn't be here, sullying my mistress's house with her filth. Harry Potter, blood traitor, should suffer says Kreacher, yes he should. Using my mistress's house to destroy the Dark Lord."

Hermione pursed her lips at the psychologically impaired little elf. After Sirius's death Harry was meaner to Kreacher. It was as if he had taken over Sirius' duty to be horrible to the elf, thus not gaining the poor old things trust and respect. Hermione had always tried to convince him to at least be civil to the elf but to no avail, so she had then taken it upon herself to be as nice to Kreacher as her mind would permit. There were times when enough was enough and she would snap at him, but he would only walk away grumbling about Mudblood's and their poor manners.

Hermione looked down at the old elf and said, "Well, you must obey your master, Kreacher. But maybe wait a little while after he comes home to tell him."

 _Give me a head start to get as far away as possible_ , she thought sadly.

Kreacher looked up at her dubiously before muttering under his breath, "The Mudblood does not want Harry Potter to find her. Kreacher wonders why? Maybe she has realised she is of no worth. She is certainly smart enough, despite her lineage."

Attempting to ease his suspicion, Hermione quickly added, hoping it would appeal to his disrespectful nature, "it would make him more upset knowing I was here whilst he may have known."

Hermione watched as the old elf's face lit up with a manic grin.

He nodded to himself, walking away "yes, let Harry Potter suffer. The Mudblood will be dead before dawn as she wonders alone, and when Harry Potter finds her he will be most displeased."

Hermione sighed sadly at the elf. There was so much potential to befriend him over the years, but at this particular moment she was rather happy for the elves inane hatred for anything that wasn't pureblood.

She quickly disillusioned herself, and left the house, disapparating with a crack.

-0-0-0-0-

Dusk was the best time to go to Gringotts. The last of the avid shoppers were just leaving or catching an early dinner in the Leaky Cauldron. The shops were gradually emptying, the last stragglers being hurried out by shopkeepers that wished to go home and rest.

Disillusioned, Hermione hurriedly made her way up the street, sticking to the shadows casted by the setting sun as best as she could so no one would see the shimmer of her body as she passed. It was times like this she wished she had an invisibility cloak.

She quickly scrambled up the stone steps of the wizarding bank, and slipped inside the golden doors when a person opened them. Said person looked around themselves as if they saw something pass them, but quickly shrugged their shoulders and went on their way.

Hermione heaved a sigh of relief. She hadn't been caught so far. Perhaps she would get lucky and no one would spot her at all before she left, thus rendering the possibility of people concluding that she was dead rather than a runaway.

Knowing that between now and when she left was the most dangerous time for potential discovery, Hermione lifted the disillusionment spell, walked up to an empty till and waited patiently for the goblin that would be serving her to finish counting his pile of rubies.

When the goblin looked up, his eyebrow-less brow lifted in surprise, a pointy toothed grin split his face. Hermione swallowed. The goblin looked nasty when he smiled like that.

"Well, well, Miss Granger, how nice of you to join the living," rasped the goblin with a pointy, slightly superior grin adorning his face, "you've raised quite a ruckus you know, disappearing like you did."

"Yes, well," Hermione murmured, clearing her throat uncomfortably, "it wasn't entirely my fault."

"No," mused the stout goblin, "I suppose not, what with you being a third of the golden trio, you probably find all kinds of trouble. And what may I do for you today?"

"I'd like to empty my vault," she answered quietly.

"Ah," hummed the goblin in realisation, "running away are you? Wizarding affairs affecting you too much?"

Hermione, at that particular moment, hated the goblin race's ridiculous intellect, and just wished the annoying little thing would give her the key to her vault and let her leave.

"Something like that," she answered tightly.

"Hm," hummed the goblin, looking over her shoulder only to smirk. "Looks like your cavalry is here."

"What?" she asked, her eyes widening.

She didn't dare look over her shoulder to see who it was. If they suspected her to be Hermione Granger purely by her hair then she most certainly would confirm it by looking around and giving them full view of her face.

"Yes," the goblin answered, looking back over her shoulder slyly, "a dark fellow. Looks like a bird with that nose of his."

"Snape," Hermione breathed immediately. "Look, please just give me the key to my vault so I can get my money and leave."

The goblin looked at her with a superior glint in his beady black eyes and silently slid a small, intricate gold key over the counter. Hermione quickly snatched it up, bowing her head so her hair covered her face, and trotted over to the entrance to the maze that would lead to her meagre vault of money.

The ride was sickening, and with each passing moment Hermione's heart picked up pace. What was she going to do when she got back up there? Had Snape seen her face? Would he stop her even if he didn't?

When she arrived at her vault she quickly scooped up all her money, tipped the coins in a purse that she kept only for money, and returned to the kart. The goblin that was assisting her was much quieter than the last one, the only sign that he recognised her being a slight widening of his eyes when they first met.

When they parted, the goblin merely nodded to her before returning to his duties. Hermione, once again, made sure her face was covered as she made a beeline for the doors. Half way there she caught sight of a black clad figure with swishing robes making their way over to her with long, loping strides. She bit her scabbed lip, knowing that she wouldn't be able to speed up any more as it would draw attention from other shoppers. Hermione merely hoped that she would be able to get to the doors on time, from where she would hastily be able to cast a disillusionment charm or slip down a side street. A few strides from the door, her excitement bubbled at the thought of freedom... only to have the weight of someone's hand on her upper arm make her freeze.

Her whole body tensed, she looked around wildly, her eyes instantly connecting with the empty black depths of her ex-potions professor.

"Walk out quietly, Granger," he commanded softly, looking down his hooked nose at her with a cruel sneer. "Do not draw more attention to yourself than you already have."

Inside, Hermione was shrieking in panic, the overwhelming need to wrench her arm from his grasp bubbled up in her, and Hermione had to clamp down on it before she did anything stupid.

Snape quickly dragged her along the clean, cobbled walkway of Diagon Alley, keeping to the shadows much like she had done.

"Please, sir," she begged in a hushed whimper, not knowing what else to do to get him to let her go, "please, I don't want to... please, let me go. I can't-"

"Be quiet you silly girl," he hissed impatiently, sending her an icy glare that only he could bestow, "I'm trying to help you."

Hermione immediately shut up. Help her?

-0-0-0-0-

"I thought you said you would help me!" Hermione shrieked, thrashing within the dark arms that were dragging her up to the Castle of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Stop thrashing, you stupid girl," he threatened, "Before I have to hex you!"

"No, you can't do this!" she begged, behaving like a caged animal. "You were there! You know what the headmaster will do if he finds out about the information I gave! Let me go!"

Instantly, she felt a sharp jab in her lower back, before she slumped limply to the ground, her eyes the only part of her able to move.

Snape crouched down above her, harsh shadows cast across his face by the light emitting from the tip of his wand.

"I see the Dark Lord has successfully planted the seed of doubt within your mind," he murmured quietly, "do you honestly think that the headmaster would turn you away after you were forced to give information and take the mark? Are you truly that naive?"

Being paralysed, Hermione didn't answer. Inside, the cogs were whirring with thought. Surely the headmaster would be furious that she had gotten herself caught, wouldn't he?

"He is not," Snape answered, obviously using Legilimency on her, "he is saddened that so much information has been given to the dark side, but he is not angry at you for giving it to them. He understands that you wouldn't ever give the information freely."

Daring not to let herself hope, and only accept that she had been caught, Hermione felt sad tears well up in her eyes and spill over her temples. Snape sneered at the sight of them, and rolled his eyes in apparent exasperation.

"Are you going to run now?" he asked quietly, "or am I going to have to levitate you all the way to the headmaster's office?"

 _'No_ ,' Hermione sighed in her head, numbed sadness washing over her, ' _let me up_.'

And so with that, Snape lifted the curse and stood, waiting for her with a scowl as she struggled to get up once more.

The walk up to the castle was a silent one. Hermione kept her head bowed, her arms wrapped around herself tightly as if to hold herself together. She had been so close, but then Snape had to go and catch her. She didn't dare believe his words about the headmaster. Surely there would be uproar once the others found out just how much information she had given to Voldemort. She wouldn't just get away with it.

Before she knew it, she was standing in the headmaster's office, the man himself sitting across from her behind his mahogany desk. She didn't dare meet his gaze, knowing that there wouldn't be any merry twinkle in his usually bright eyes, only disappointment.

But, as it seems, the headmaster had plans of his own.

Hermione was forced to meet his gaze when two of the most relieving words broke through the silence.

"Lemon drop?"

Hermione's head snapped up, seeing the old wizard holding out a glass bowl filled with his favourite sweets, and a sad smile on his face. He looked melancholy, but kindly. The twinkle in his eye had dissipated, but there was no magical force around him that purveyed anger. Dumbledore understood.

Tears welled up in her eyes and Hermione hurriedly blinked them back. The headmaster's offering of sweets signified some form of normalcy. What Hermione now knew for sure, was that he most certainly wasn't angry at her, disappointed yes, but not angry. And, he most certainly was not going to send her to Azkaban for having taken the Dark Mark.

"N-no, thank you headmaster," stuttered Hermione as she ducked her head once again.

There was a short silence that descended on the three.

That was, until Dumbledore broke it. "Severus told me everything, Miss Granger. You are in no way being blamed. Though I am saddened that such extensive amounts of information have been released, I understand that you had no way of escaping such a situation. However," Dumbledore's voice dropped, his eyes a dull, disappointed sheen, "I am disappointed that you chose to go into Knockturn alley, a place we all know is frequented by Death Eater's. What were you doing down there?"

Hermione glanced up at him, and quickly dropped her gaze back to her shoes when she noticed how his gaze pierced into her own.

She mumbled her response.

"I'm sorry my dear," Dumbledore murmured quietly, "I'm afraid you must speak up, my ears are not as good as they once were."

Hermione sighed, hating that she was ratting out Ron. But, being the ever faithful rule follower, Hermione knew that what Ron had done was utterly stupid. Maybe with Dumbledore knowing, Ron would get a good smack upside the head.

"Ron wanted to see these shrunken heads," she murmured quietly, her eyes trained on the intricate rug at her feet, "I didn't want to see him go in there alone. He could have been caught by Death Eaters."

It was only then that Snape, who had been silent during the exchange, spoke up, his voice a sarcastic drawl, "and so you decided that you were a better candidate for kidnap?"

Hermione hurried to answer, her head snapping up, her eyes wide and pleading. "No! I-"

"Enough," Dumbledore's quiet voice cracked through the oncoming debate. His eyes flickered from Severus, to Hermione, and back again. "This situation is dire enough without people within our ranks bickering."

He then turned to Hermione, his face, if possible, saddening even more. "I'm afraid that Voldemort was right, in a way, Miss Granger. With you taking the Dark Mark, I'm afraid that you may become a liability to the Order. Did you not wonder how Voldemort found so many of his betrayed Death Eaters?" he looked pointedly at her forearm. "That mark not only summons, but tracks. I'm afraid that it might become too dangerous if you were constantly around Harry. I feel that he did this to ensure that, either way, he could keep tabs on you."

Hermione spluttered. "b-but he said that he thought you would turn me away, that I would be sent to Azkaban."

"I'm sure he did think that. He always did put too little faith in love," answered Dumbledore, looking over his half moon spectacles at Hermione, "but he is nothing if not thorough. I'm sure he only marked you so that, if in the event we still accepted you, he would be able to track Harry through you."

"So what now?" Hermione asked, knowing that Dumbledore would not allow her near Harry again.

"You go into hiding," Dumbledore answered simply. "We will give the appearance that you have been turned away. Voldemort will suspect that we have indeed abandoned you and so he will not check on your whereabouts as often as he would if you entered back into society. Along with this, we will set up extra precautionary methods to make sure that whilst tracking you, he will be blown off course enough for you to make a quick escape if he did send for others to kill you."

He then turned to Severus. "We need to find a place that is remote, somewhere that has little to no human contact. We cannot risk any more casualties."

Snape was silent in thought for a few seconds, his face impassive. "I know a place."

Dumbledore and Snape seemed to have a silent conversation of sorts after that. Both men stared hard at each other, neither one blinking at all.

Eventually Dumbledore sighed, plucked his glasses off his crooked nose, and cleaned them on the hem of his bright blue sleeve.

"I am not comfortable with this, Severus," Dumbledore admitted, looking old and tired.

Hermione's gaze flickered between the two men in confusion.

"It is the best place for her. No one but I will know of where she is. The Dark Lord will not think to question me because of it." Snape answered quietly.

Dumbledore sighed again, looked up at the younger man, and nodded. He then turned to Hermione with his piercing blue eyes. "Judging by your earlier behaviour you have already packed your belongings for an escape. This makes things much simpler. Rest here for tonight; I'm afraid you may not contact your friends. The less people who know of your subsequent induction into the Death Eater ranks, the better."

"I- I can't even say goodbye?" Hermione whispered.

Dumbledore looked at her sadly. "No, I'm sorry, my dear, but it's for the best."

-0-0-0-0-

That night Hermione hardly slept. She had been forced to sleep on the uncomfortable couch in Dumbledore's quarters, a scratchy, old quilt over her tired form. When the elderly wizard came in the next morning he was met with the sight of Hermione staring blankly at his roof, as if she had sunk in on herself. He had watched her as she forced down her jam and toast, and felt a bout of guilt wash over him. This girl had been through so much, and now she was being isolated, most likely until Harry defeated Tom. It was too much to ask of her, but she had agreed.

After breakfast Hermione had merely showered and changed her clothes, warm like professor Snape had instructed her since apparently where she was going was cold, and had stared at Dumbledore blankly as if to say, 'what now?'

The elderly wizard merely sighed and floo'd her to Severus's quarters where she would be taken to a place where even he wouldn't know, and would be isolated there for the unforeseeable future.

The poor dear.

He had bid her as warm a farewell as he could, given her a grandfatherly hug, and seen her leave with the potions master.

When the pair apparated to wherever they were going, Snape immediately shrugged Hermione off his arm, which she was holding in a death grip, and started walking brusquely towards an open clearing. Hermione trotted to keep up with him, pulling the cloak around her tighter as a chill washed over her.

When she caught up to him, he thrust his hand out to her, inside of which was a single piece of parchment, neatly folded.

"Where are we?" Hermione asked as she unfolded the mysterious cream coloured piece of paper.

She looked up at Snape expectantly, despite her curiosity to see what was on the paper; her curiosity over their current location was higher.

Snape sighed sufferingly. "Just read the note, Granger."

Hermione frowned at him but quickly looked down at the parchment, inquisitive.

What was read on it made her frown deepen.

_Domum Cabin, Bunloinn forest, UK._

Hermione looked up at the dark, foreboding man, shaking her head in bafflement. "I still don't-"

"It's near Greenfield, you insufferable Know-It-All," Snape snapped, looking down his overgrown nose at her.

Hermione pursed her lips it him, tilting her chin up defiantly as he used his old cruel nickname for her.

"Greenfield?" she asked lowly, trying to rein in her infamous short temper. She watched as he nodded, scowling at her apparent lack of intellect. "Greenfield in Scotland?"

"Is there another Greenfield in the UK that I am unaware of?" he bit out, scowling at her. "Get inside."

"Inside?" Hermione questioned dumbly, looking around her. What she saw shocked her.

What had been an open clearing before, was now obscured by a small log cabin. Hermione stared at it dumbly, her mouth gaping open like a fish. So this was another house that had been under the Fidelius charm.

"Who's the secret keeper?' Hermione wondered out loud, knowing full well that Dumbledore was unaware of their location, so it obviously wasn't him.

"I am," came the completely unexpected response from Severus Snape himself.

Hermione's head snapped over to him, her eyes narrowing.

"You?" she asked, doubtful.

If it was even possible, Snape's scowl deepened as he turned his head to look at her. "Yes, Granger, me. Now get inside."

Once inside Hermione was assaulted with the smell of old cigar smoke. She wrinkled her nose in distaste, and sent her ex-potions professor an icy glare at learning about his nasty habit. Didn't he know that those things caused cancer?

No wonder his teeth were so yellow. Ew.

Said professor merely scowled right back at her before pointing towards the back of the room. "the door on the left is your bedroom," he then pointed to one to his right, "that door leads to the kitchen and dining area," he then finally pointed to a door straight across from him, "and that is the bathroom. The other rooms are not to be entered."

"Is there a study I can use?" Hermione asked, hoping beyond hope that the meagre bookcase next to her bedroom door wasn't the only source of books.

"There's a desk there," was the short answer she received.

Hermione closed her eyes in horror. There were maybe only twenty books on that flimsy bookshelf, and she hadn't packed all her books, knowing that merely the weight of them all would probably floor a horse, let alone herself. Being a Muggleborn, she had completely overlooked the fact that she could have just placed a feather-light charm on them.

She was brought out of her thoughts when Snape murmured, "there is a basement. Its entrance is from the outside, which is not to be entered. Do not attempt to, as I have extensive wards set up."

Hermione merely nodded, knowing that the man probably had some horrifying curse set up for any fool that attempted to enter his precious basement.

Snape then turned from her, heading towards the kitchen, "make yourself at home."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance Part I: Defiance  
Chapter 3

'Goody Goody?'  
.

Hermione was already bored, and it hadn't even been a day since she had moved into this godforsaken cabin. The smell of cigars grated on her nose constantly, and the lack of suitable books sent her mind whirring into a cloud of haphazard thoughts that didn't have any suitable distraction for them to be honed. She had practically stripped the place bare from boredom, eventually taking it upon herself to clean the place from head to toe. The kitchen was practically bare; the cupboards empty apart from a few canned goods that had passed their long-lived expiry dates months ago.

It was only when she entered the shed at the back of the cabin did she finally give up trying to clean.

Inside were the skinned carcasses of what looked like cows hanging from frightening, large metal hooks attached to the ceiling. Upon seeing it, Hermione had shrieked and closed the door with a loud bang before she could even process what she had seen. When she had finally taken a few steadying breaths, she had pushed the door open again, taking in the sight of many dead animals hanging in the shed. The floor was crusted in red, dried up blood, a few puddles freshly made by newer carcasses.

Needless to say, Hermione was shocked. Surely Snape wasn't so brutal that he would keep fresh meat hanging around like this?

No wonder he had kept it padlocked.

True to her word, she hadn't even ventured near the doors that apparently led to the basement. Hermione knew that had she gone within a five meter radius of the place, she most likely would have been blasted right off her feet with some hideous curse. She wasn't stupid.

However, the thing that got to her most was the lack of human contact. Having supposedly disappeared from the world, Hermione found her only contacts were the headmaster, Snape, and if she were exceptionally desperate, Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Unsurprisingly, Hermione only found the need to contact Dumbledore, and even then she had resisted. Surely the wisest wizard of the age had more important things to do than read the prattling complaints of a twenty-one year old girl.

And so, Hermione was exceptionally alone with no one to talk to, living in a stale cigar smelling house with the only acceptable food being carcasses hanging up in a padlocked shed behind the cabin.

She could see life was going to be hell, and she hadn't even been here for six hours.

Fan-bloody-tastic.

-0-0-0-0-

That afternoon Hermione had re-entered the house to find a disgruntled Snape with copious amounts of bags in the small living room.

"Hello Professor," Hermione greeted politely.

The only response she received was a short grunt. "Granger."

"Can I help you with anything?" she asked, her hands clasped in front of her to quell the nervous feeling she got whenever she was around the dark, imposing man.

"Yes," he gritted, his nose scrunched up in aversion, "unpack."

And so she did, pursing her lips against scolding him for his bad attitude. She quickly found that Snape had brought her some fresh food, most of it fruits and vegetables with the occasional 'fresh' canned good. What did surprise her, however, was that he had brought meat as well. Surely there was plenty in that bloody shed? Why would they need more?

Being an ever faithful articulate, Hermione voiced her bafflement.

Snape had looked minutely surprised at her admission for knowing about the carcasses before his face turned blank.

"That meat is not for you," he replied shortly. "No more questions. Unpack quietly, if possible. I know it must be hard for you."

Hermione scowled at him, and resumed unpacking a little more violently than before. Snape, more than once, gave her a curious look as she thumped the cans of baked beans in the small pantry with a small clank against the wood shelving.

-0-0-0-0-

Two days passed in monotony. Hermione hadn't heard from Snape since he had brought in her food. After he had left, he had given her a small mirror, and told her, albeit in a rather snarky way, that she would be able to contact him if she were in an emergency by saying his name into the mirror. Needless to say, he had stressed and basically dissected the meaning of 'emergency.' By the end of it, Hermione was scowling deeply and just wished for him to be gone. Now she wanted company, even if the only available contact was to be her snarky, unlikable ex-potions professor.

She had, despite her previous horror, attempted to read the pitiful collection of books on the small bookshelf in the corner of the small living room. It was... hard... to say the least. Some books flat out refused to even budge from their spots on the shelf, and those that did loved to wail and shriek when they were opened, some even tried to gobble off her fingers, their pages opening and closing in gleeful snaps.

After that Hermione had kept to her own books.

On her third afternoon of staying at Domum Cabin she found herself in a rather compromising position.

She had been drinking tea and nibbling on a biscuit with her over-read copy of her seventh year Arithmancy textbook when the Floo suddenly activated. Hermione had looked out from the side of the large green comfy couch only to be distinctly aware of her jaw dropping like a gaping fish.

Standing just outside the fireplace, watching his hands as he dusted himself off, was none other than Rodolphus Lestrange.

Hermione swallowed a squeak of surprise and quickly rolled off the couch as quietly as she could, kneeling on her hands and knees. Peaking around the side of the couch, careful to hold her hair back in case the fuzz attracted unwanted attention, Hermione watched as Lestrange looked around himself in a haughty manner. He sniffed disdainfully, scrunching up his nose at what he smelled. Apparently, he disliked the smell of stale cigars as well.

' _Thank god_ ,' was the first though that came to mind at his action, ' _at least I'm not the only one._ '

She was brought out of her thoughts when his gaze landed on her half full tea cup, resting inches above her head on the coffee table. Hermione grimaced, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn't come over to investigate.

What she received in response baffled her.

Opening her eyes again Hermione watched as Rodolphus' attention was drawn into the kitchen and he let rip a delighted smile. "Ooh, tea!"

Hermione's mouth thinned in thought and she frowned. What on earth had just happened? Surely the use of a new cup of tea would indicate to him that there was someone else in the cabin. The fact that it was the middle of the day on a Wednesday also proved that it couldn't possibly be Snape who made it...

Maybe he was just stupid...

Hermione seriously doubted that.

Watching him with bated breath as he entered the kitchen, letting the wooden door click behind him as he did, Hermione scrambled up into a standing position. She quickly tip toed to her bedroom door, slowly turned the doorknob, and opened it, grimacing every time the wood creaked in its frame. Once inside she scrambled to her bedside table, shoved the drawer open as forcefully as she could without it causing a ruckus, and plucked out the small handheld mirror, before diving under the bed.

"Severus Snape," she whispered hurriedly, only glancing up from the reflective glass to see if there was any indication of Lestrange outside her door. Seeing nothing through the minute crack under the door, Hermione's eyes returned to her emergency mirror.

Snape's face swam into view and he gave her a scowl.

"What is it, Granger, I have-," he started grousing but Hermione cut him off.

"Ssh!" she hissed, flapping her hand up and down in a futile attempt to stop him from talking so loudly, even though his voice was barely above a whisper.

Snape scowled at her, his eyes narrowing at her behaviour. "What, Granger? This had better be good. I'm teaching."

"I have a Death Eater in my living room," she hissed.

Snape's face fell blank.

Eventually, after a few agonising seconds, he sighed heavily. Hermione raised her eyebrows questioningly.

"Let me guess," he finally murmured, pinching the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed. "It's either Lucius Malfoy or one of the Lestrange Brothers."

Hermione nodded, frowning ever deeper. "How did you know?"

Instead of answering, Snape merely looked down to a place outside of the frame that Hermione couldn't see, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before he looked up again. "Wait there. Try not to get caught. I'll be there soon."

"How soon is soon?" Hermione asked hurriedly, but the mirror had already gone blank.

Hermione continued to stare at the mirror pleadingly, as if staring at the surface hard enough would bring Snape's face back. Unsurprisingly, it didn't.

Sighing in defeat, Hermione let her head drop to the cool timber of the flooring, her head connecting to the hard surface with a muffled thump. Her hair fell about her face in rivulets of brown tendrils, blocking anything from her view. Hermione's mind was racing.

Snape had correctly guessed who it was in his house. There were hundreds of Death Eaters within Voldemort's ranks, so obviously this wasn't just a random visit from a fellow Death Eater. There was something in particular that had made Rodolphus Lestrange come to Snape's small secluded cabin.

And that brought her to another thought. The cabin was under the Fidelius charm, meaning that no one could see or enter without express permission from the Secret Keeper. Surely Snape wouldn't send her into hiding in a house that could easily be frequented by Death Eater's? In the case that he hadn't given permission to Lestrange, it then meant that the charm had been broken, and Hermione's cover had been revealed. She was no longer hiding, and Lestrange had most likely been sent by the Dark Lord to either kill her or to kidnap her, and take her back to their "secret" base, i.e. Malfoy Manor.

Hermione frowned at the thought. If that was true then Lestrange wouldn't have been so distracted by the sight of tea. Surely he would have seen her half empty tea cup and investigate further? That theory made no sense then. The only other explanation then meant that Snape had given Lestrange permission to enter the house, and that probably meant that he was a traitor as well.

But that also made no sense. If he wanted to kill her, then this was an exceptionally stupid time to do so. With he being the only one to know where she was, then he had full responsibility over her safety. Surely Dumbledore would become suspicious of him if Snape had her killed just days after she had gone into hiding.

Hermione sighed.

None of it made sense. Either Snape was incredibly stupid or Lestrange was incredibly stupid, both explanations of which made no sense to Hermione. Both men were notorious thinkers, and dangerous with their wands. Surely both would be smarter than to make rookie mistakes like they seemed to be doing now. There had to be more to the situation than Hermione had been seeing. What was Rodolphus Lestrange doing in Snape's house, and how had he gotten in there? Why had Snape known he would be there too?

She was snapped out of her thoughts when she heard the door creak open.

Her eyes flew open, her head rising rapidly only to hit one of the wooden slats underneath the mattress. She hissed in pain and anger at herself. The muffled thump that her head had created had no doubt drawn the attention of the pureblood whose feet were currently striding towards the bed. She gritted her teeth and fumbled in her jeans pocket for her wand, only to have her eyes widen in horror when she didn't feel it.

She closed them once more when she realised that it was on the coffee table in the next room... next to her half empty tea cup.

Bollocks.

She quickly shuffled out from under the other side of the bed from the purebloods feet. She watched, breath held, as one of Lestrange's knees connected to the floor. At that point Hermione raised herself on her hands and knees, ready to scramble away when the older man was in a compromising position. When she saw his hands splay on the floor and the very end if his bearded chin, Hermione jumped to her feet. Scrambling over the mattress, the springs in the mattress creaking under her weight, Hermione jumped over the surprised Rodolphus with an unladylike leap, and scrambled out the door.

She didn't look behind her for the intruder until she had practically dived over the couch and fumbled for her wand, knocking over her tea cup in the process, the tan coloured liquid splashing over the dark mahogany tabletop. Only when she had her wand, did she spin around, looking for Lestrange, her hair whipping around in wild curls about her face.

He stood just outside the doorway, hands empty of any potentially harmful equipment, with a rather shocked look on his regal face.

Neither of them said a word, the only sounds being Hermione's rapid breathing as she pointed her wand at him threateningly, looking much like a cornered wild animal. Slowly, a menacing grin etched its way onto Rodolphus' features. He walked forward, slinking, cautious, and fluid. Hermione was instantly reminded of his wife, Bellatrix. They both walked the same way, as if they were reading any person within the room for a potential threat, ready to pounce to their defence at any moment.

Or attack. Hermione suspected the latter was far more common than the former.

"Hex me, Kitten," smirked Rodolphus, "I dare you."

Hermione was at a loss of what to do. She couldn't just hex him when he was unarmed! It would just be downright unfair for him.

And on that thought... why hadn't he drawn his wand on her?

She was brought out of her pondering when Lestrange took another fluid step towards her, his grin menacing, and his eyes sparkling in what seemed to be malicious amusement. He knew she wasn't going to hex him unless he provoked her.

Hermione tilted her chin defiantly, raising her wand even further as if reminding him she was the one that was armed and he was not.

"Granger!" suddenly barked a voice to her right. Hermione jumped violently, nearly losing her grip on her wand and turned to see Snape glaring at her, standing in the doorframe of the open front door. "Didn't your mother teach you not to brandish dangerous objects at guests? Lower your wand before I have to disarm you."

Hermione stared at him as if he was crazy, her eyes flickering to the rather amused looking pureblood in front of her, but she didn't lower her wand.

"Lower. It. Now," hissed Snape, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"B-but professor," Hermione spluttered, pointing to Lestrange as if that were to only explanation needed. "He's a-"

"A Death Eater, yes I know, you stupid girl," dismissed Snape, rolling his eyes, "he isn't a threat. Now, I ask you for the last time, lower your wand."

Hermione stared at Snape for a few more seconds, her hand descending part of the way before coming to a halt. Her head whipped around to glare at Rodolphus who was idly examining his fingernails as if he didn't have a care in the world. Only when she saw the rustle of Snape's cloak in the corner of her eye did Hermione finally drop her wand fully with a sigh.

It wasn't a second before Rodolphus lifted his head and greeted Snape, "Severus, I must admit your choice in tea is absolutely excellent. You have a wonderful brand."

"yes, well, Granger finds herself so superior that she took it upon herself to inform the house elves in Hogwarts which the best tea was," Snape sneered, "I find I didn't want to be subjected to her wrath and, heaven forbid, get the wrong type of tea."

Hermione bristled, sending Snape an icy glare before she snapped, "firstly, you can talk as if I'm in the room, thank you very much. Secondly I do not think myself superior enough to tell the house elves what to do; I merely suggested that they look into the tea since I had it in the Leaky Cauldron one time and quite liked it. Thirdly, what on earth is going on?"

Hermione's eyes snapped to Lestrange who sniffed haughtily at her and smirked. She narrowed her eyes at him, knowing that the two men were obviously hiding something from her. She suppressed the need to demand an explanation from them and stomp her feet, knowing that she would look like a petulant child if she did.

"All in due time, Granger," dismissed Snape with a single wave of his hand, "now if you will excuse us, Rodolphus and I have much to discuss."

Hermione spluttered, watching, slack jawed and angry, as the two dark wizards made their way into the vacated kitchen. She silently fumed, her breathing laboured in an attempt to calm her infamous temper, only for her to grunt ineloquently and flop down on the comfy green couch in a slumping heap. She picked her feet up and brought them down on the coffee table, perhaps a little harder than she normally would have judging by the loud clang and the throbbing of her heels that ensued.

She stuffed her hands into her jeans pockets and quickly retreated both of them when she came upon something thin and rubbery in her right pocket. Years in the wizarding world had taught Hermione to quickly retract her grasp from anything if she didn't know what it was, just in case it would bite, sting, electrocute, cut, or disembowel her. Hesitantly, she reached in her pocket once more and pulled out a skin coloured piece of string.

Smiling to herself, Hermione stood up from the chair, and hoped beyond hope that the two Death Eaters hadn't warded the door against extendable ears.

Surprisingly, they hadn't.

"-too much of a Goody Goody to eavesdrop on us, Rodolphus," Hermione heard Snape murmur as the flesh coloured string slithered along the floor, underneath the closed doorway of the kitchen.

Hermione pursed her lips in offense. She was not a Goody Goody! Look at all the trouble she had landed herself in whilst on her many adventures with Harry and Ron. The first coming to mind was a particularly stupid mountain troll that apparently had an affinity for girl's lavatories.

"If that is true," responded Rodolphus, his voice slightly distorted due to the extendable ears, "then how do you know she will join our cause? Surely she will not accept, what with our pasts with her and that little group of idiots she calls friends."

"It may be difficult," conceded Snape, "she will be a valuable asset if she does though, which is why I think it will be prudent to give her the chance to join. We will not know for sure unless we do not ask."

Hermione heard muffled footsteps, gaining in volume. She gritted her teeth, hoping that she hadn't been found out. Luckily, they stopped, and nothing happened. She breathed a sigh of relief and continued listening.

"I suppose we could always obliviate her if-"

The voice was suddenly cut off when the extendable ear was ripped from Hermione's own one. She hissed, sitting up abruptly, clutching her ear as it throbbed from the object being so carelessly removed.

She was concentrating so hard on her pain that she didn't hear the two men exit the room til they were bearing down on her. When she looked up she saw two pairs of polished black boots. She tensed, sitting absolutely still as the news of her discovery came crashing down on her.

Oh dear.

Two seriously dangerous Death Eaters had just caught her eavesdropping on them.

She lifted her gaze slowly, following up the paths of their legs, to their torsos, and then to their heads. Rodolphus looked amused while Snape looked... well, deadly.

His face was darkened into a glare that only he could bestow. Despite herself, Hermione found that she was shrinking to the floor, bowing her head so she didn't have to look at the expression of pure rage that Snape was fiercely granting her with.

Hermione chanced a look up again to see Lestrange turn to Snape with a cocky air and state, "what was that you said about Granger being too much of a Goody Goody to eavesdrop on us, Severus?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance  
Chapter 4

'Meet-Cute'  
.

It was intimidating, being stared at by five different, very grown, very menacing men. Hermione knew this because that's what was happening to her at that particular moment.

Since she had been caught eavesdropping on Snape and Lestrange, Hermione found herself caught up in a whirlwind of events that she hadn't previously thought possible. As it turns out, Snape was a traitor to the light. This wasn't particularly surprising information, to be honest. Snape's loyalty had been a constant bickering point between the members of the Order. She had always defended him, trusting Dumbledore's judgement with her life. As it turns out, the old man was wrong.

Very wrong.

Now, some may wonder why, hours after discovering his betrayal, Hermione was still alive. In truth, Snape wasn't a Death Eater either. Neither was Rodolphus or the three other men in the room. This in itself was a bigger surprise than learning of Snape's betrayal of the light.

According to Snape, Dumbledore was giving too much of a task to a twenty year old boy. Hermione agreed with him to an extent, but she was torn. Dumbledore trusted in the prophecy, and Dumbledore had done them all good so far. Could he possibly be so incredibly wrong about this?

Snape had given her a copy of the prophecy when she had declared that maybe Dumbledore had interpreted it incorrectly, wanting to find even a small way to overlook the fact that Dumbledore was sounding more and more like a senile old man. She had read through it hundreds of times and even her overactive, analytic brain could find no way around it.

.  
 _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches,_  
 _Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies,_  
 _And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not,_  
 _And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives,_  
 _And the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies,_  
 _._

The prophecy was talking about Harry, there was no doubt about it, and it looked like Dumbledore was attempting to follow it to the letter. Unfortunately for Hermione, she had always found divination to be an extremely vexing subject, and one to be thrown away as soon as possible. Her ideals were working against her as she scavenged for a way to continue having faith in Albus Dumbledore.

It had taken hours of discussing and crying on Hermione's part, but they had eventually convinced her that Dumbledore wasn't taking sufficient action against the Dark Lord, and that they weren't going to kill her or turn her back into their 'Master.'

And this is where Hermione found herself now, waiting to hear what the small band of men were doing to bring down the Dark Lord.

She was still sceptical about the other men's loyalties. Snape's she didn't worry about at all, he had explained that he had caused the death of a dear friend years ago by becoming a Death Eater. He had looked so sad as he said that, that Hermione had little difficulty believing him. For a man who was well known for his bad temper, it was surprising to see his face soften into such a melancholy look.

The rest however, Hermione was having difficulty coming to grips with. How on earth would they benefit from bringing Voldemort down? Surely they would have more of a profit if they stayed under his service.

She was brought out of her musing when she heard Snape ask, "And now we have a request of you, Miss Granger."

Hermione's head snapped up to his, her eyes wide. What on earth would they want from her?

"Will you join us?"

Hermione's eyes widened further. She, a Mudblood, joining a band of pureblood men known for their hatred of people like her? It was so outrageously farfetched that Hermione found the compelling urge to make sure she had heard correctly.

"Excuse me?"

Snape's eyes narrowed in annoyance, and he hissed, "I dislike repeating myself, Granger. You have just been requested to join a small band of men whose aim is to bring down the Dark Lord. What did you not understand?"

Hermione scowled at the dark wizard, feeling righteous indignation at his words. She opened her mouth to retort in kind, but quickly shut it, knowing full well this was not the time to start a silly fight just because Snape thought himself above her.

The git.

"What will I do if I join?" she asked instead, "I'm in hiding; I can't do any active work. How else will I be useful?"

Snape was about to answer her when a low growl interrupted him. "I doubt you would be able to do active work in any case, runt. You're as scrawny as they get."

Hermione's head snapped in the direction of the voice only to be met with the level stare of Fenrir Greyback himself.

He was as feral as ever, his wenge-brown hair hanging in dirty, layered tangles around his shoulders. He had a heavy brow, his grey eyes glinting dangerously as he pierced her with his stare. His nose was long and straight, his lips thin, though his bottom one was slightly fuller than the top. They were pulled back to reveal pointed canines as he grinned a feral grin at her. He had a strong jaw, which was framed with a short-haired chin curtain. His ears were pointed, though not enough to declare them elf-like, but they gave him a distinct animal-like appearance.

Greyback's clothing looked exactly the same as the last time she had seen him. She was sure the man hated clothes. His torso was bare to reveal large muscular arms, a wide chest and a well sculpted belly. The man was large, standing at over six foot three. He had a wide trunk, but it had little to no fat on it. He would have been at least twice as wide as Hermione, if not more. He wore dark, worn polyester track pants that hung low on his hips, revealing the striking V-shaped muscles above his hips that travelled to below his navel. On his feet were large, clunking steel-capped boots.

If he didn't have such a ghastly reputation preceding him, Hermione would have found him rather attractive.

In a sort of feral, dangerous kind of way.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by sharp hiss, "Granger!"

Hermione jumped, and tore her eyes away from the imposing werewolf, only to be met with the glare of Snape again.

"Stop gawking at him and pay attention, you stupid girl," Snape hissed, looking characteristically angry now.

Hermione felt a blush rising on her cheeks, which only deepened when she heard a deep, rumbling chuckle from the direction that Greyback was standing.

She refused to look around the room, feeling properly humiliated by Snape, as was his intention, surely.

"As I was saying before you decided to daydream like a ridiculous adolescent," Snape said cruelly, "you would be a good candidate for research. We're searching for ways to track the Dark Lord's Horcruxes. I am in the development of a potion that enables us to destroy them without him feeling it. If you join, you will help me develop the potion and do what you can to find the Horcruxes."

Hermione nodded, her gaze fixed on the cruel sneer that was adorning the Professor's face.

"And what happens if I don't join?" she asked, purely out of curiosity.

"You will be obliviated," answered Snape simply, as if the threat wasn't horrific.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, desperate to yell at him for even threatening her with memory loss. Unfortunately, she was gravely outnumbered, and most likely wouldn't even get to the door if she tried to escape.

She sighed and closed her eyes, the cogs in her head whirring to catch up to the past three hours. Snape, and four other notorious Death Eater's were, in fact, not Death Eater's. Snape was technically a betrayer of the light but he was still aiming to bring down Voldemort. These five, previously thought of, evil men, were working on a way to bring down the Dark Lord. There ways were the obliteration of Voldemort's Horcruxes, but before they could do that they needed to find the Horcruxes and numb the Dark Lord of feeling when they were actually destroyed or moved.

On top of all this, Hermione only had two choices: to join or to forget this ever happened.

Her eyes snapped open, their honeyed depths glinting with a sense of determination that only Hermione Granger could exhibit.

"I'll do it."

The tense air of the room seemed to settle somewhat. Snape remained impassive as always, but the Lestrange brothers and Lucius Malfoy seemed to relax a little. Hermione refused to see what Greyback looked like since she was still reeling with embarrassment after being caught staring at him.

Hermione looked around at the men, feeling a small inkling of doubt about the small band that they formed.

"So this is it?" she asked, feeling rather incredulous, "six members?"

"Quantity doesn't mean a thing," replied Malfoy, speaking for the first time that night, "it's the effectiveness of the members that determines a successful group. There are others that help us but they don't know us as a group per se."

They had stayed and discussed things for a little over an hour. Hermione hardly understood much of what they said. Being new, she didn't link things together as she had too little information to do so. She did, however, understand Malfoy's issues with the ministry, as she worked there herself.

 _'Had,'_ she reminded herself. She didn't work there anymore.

Apparently Malfoy was having trouble squishing rumours about a certain Order member, whose name Hermione didn't recognise, who apparently was making a bigger name for himself among the Death Eater's than he could handle. A rookie by the sounds of it. Someone who was too full of himself.

She had been humbled by this, the fact that Lucius Malfoy was protecting someone else other than his own, but that feeling was quickly squished when he ranted about blood traitors who were too stupid to look after themselves, which was quickly followed up by the questioning of why he was protecting them in the first place and why he couldn't just let the little bastard get killed.

"Unnecessary deaths, Lucius," Snape had replied, "that's why you're doing this."

The meeting ended soon thereafter.

The men stood up, draining the last of their tea, and said their polite goodbyes. Hermione walked them to the door, knowing that being purebloods, the men would appreciate a modicum of etiquette from their hostess. The Lestrange brothers and Malfoy left at practically the same time. After that, Hermione went back inside, picked up the empty tea cups on the table, and went to the kitchen.

Upon entering, Hermione halted in her tracks. Snape and Greyback were inside, both eating. Snape's choice of food was fine - an apple. But what made Hermione stop, was the dripping red chunk of meet hanging off Greyback's animal-like, pointed claws. She felt her face scrunch up in disgust as she watched droplets of red blood dribble down his hand and drop on the previously clean island in the middle of the kitchen. When both men's gazes drifted over to hers, Hermione attempted to compose herself. She quickly dropped her own gaze to the floor, and scurried over to the sink where she charmed the cups and saucers to clean themselves.

If she had turned around at that moment she would have seen Greyback smirk at Snape, silently chortling at her obvious distaste at his choice of food, before stripping another chunk of wet meat off the lump in his hand and gobbling it up with gusto.

Hermione turned around again when Snape addressed her.

"I will come twice a week to work on the potion. The lab is in the basement. I will adjust the wards to let you in," he explained as he took another bite of his apple. "You will only enter when I'm there, or with express permission from me and only me."

He paused and levelled her with a pointed stare, as if daring her to defy him. He then continued, "I will be back on Friday. You may see my progress then."

It was only then that Snape stood up and left. Hermione didn't grace him with any etiquette, knowing the man wouldn't extend the same courtesy unless she was on her death bed, and even then she was sceptical. She simply waved him off as he left the room.

When she heard the front door click, she looked up at Greyback, who, when he noticed her look, pierced her with his gaze, gave her a feral grin and licked his bloodstained fingers as if he were savouring a special treat. Hermione's nose scrunched up, but instead of voicing her opinion, merely left the room.

He knew where the front door was. There was no need to keep him company til he left.

Hermione didn't eat dinner that night. The day had been too stressful, and her mind was too preoccupied to realise her stomach would complain in the morning. She read for a while after, but quickly tired of even that. She had read her school books too many times for them to be remotely interesting anymore. She put the book down with a disgruntled thump and let her head fall back on the back of the comfy green armchair. She was tired, emotionally and physically. Perhaps it would just be better to go to bed.

Her shower relaxed her somewhat. She sat on the floor, her head resting against the cool tiles as the hot water massaged her tense muscles, and pondered her situation.

It was surprising to say the least, having found out that five of the most notorious Death Eater's in Europe were, in fact, the 'good guys.' Well, not good... not really. It just seemed they were serving their own agendas, and that included bringing down their master. Hermione couldn't see them serving the greater good, and she doubted that they were. They most likely would profit in some way if they took down Voldemort. She did, in fact, have a problem with their motivations, even though she didn't even know what they were, but she also knew that if she worked with them she would be contributing to the downfall of the most evil wizard that the world had seen in centuries. She also knew that they were taking a more active role in killing Voldemort than the Order was, and she was happy about that. She also respected the fact that they didn't seem to have a boss in the group. All members were even, and they all gave their individual opinions, which then resulted in a fairer ruling system.

She found she preferred this system, instead of having blind faith in an old man who had a rather convincing way with words.

She found herself disappointed with Albus Dumbledore. He was such a sweet, manipulative, old man, and she cursed herself for following him so blindly. She doubted he was a bad person, but she certainly had lost trust in his abilities as a leader. He placed too much faith in a random prophecy, supplied by the largest overgrown insect Hogwarts had ever seen, Sybille Trelawney. The order had been idle much too long, and the fact that the Death Eater's had, in fact, been driven to bring down Voldemort themselves was just sad.

She climbed out of her shower, her hair hanging in lank, dripping tendrils around her face and shoulders. She wrapped herself in a towel and exited the bathroom, hissing as the cold air hit her damp skin...

Only to run head first into a solid wall.

She stumbled back, clutching her towel as it threatened to fall around her ankles and scrambling for balance. A hard clutch gripped her wrist and steadied her; sharp nails piercing the soft flesh of her wrist. She gasped in surprise, her eyes meeting the intense orbs of grey that belonged to Fenrir Greyback.

"What on earth are you doing here?" she hissed, blushing furiously at being caught in such a state of undress. "It's nearly ten!"

Greyback's eyebrows quirked and his grip on her wrist tightened; the sharp tips of his claws stinging against her skin.

"I'm glad you can tell the time," he growled dryly, "that's one less issue I have to worry about concerning your abilities."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, knowing he viewed her as 'mediocre stock.'

A weak human.

A useless woman.

Well, he would soon learn that Hermione Granger rarely stood down from a challenge, especially one from a brute such as him.

"Why are you still here?" she asked through gritted teeth.

Greyback's eyebrows rose. "I live here."

"What?" Hermione practically shrieked. "Snape's letting you stay here?"

Greyback was silent for a while, his gruff features marred by a frown. If Hermione didn't know any better, she might have thought he looked confused.

Eventually he rumbled quietly, "I didn't realise I needed his permission to stay in my own house."

"Yes, you need permis-" Hermione started to rant but stopped mid-sentence. "I... what? Your house?"

"Yes, runt," he growled, his lips pulled back just enough to show the pointed tips of his canines. He gave her arm a hard squeeze, just enough to dig his claws in and make Hermione hiss. He then softened his grip a little. "My house."

"No," Hermione murmured to herself, shaking her head in agitated confusion, "no, this is Snape's house. I'm sure of it."

"He told you that did he?" Greyback asked, an amused smirk tweaking his lips.

"I – well – no..." she spluttered, hitching up her towel higher against her chest.

She blushed a deeper red when Greyback's eyes lowered at the movement. He watched her damp body with a wolfish glint in his eye as she fidgeted to get the towel to cover as much of her form as possible. He then smirked and raised his eyes to her again.

He hummed in thought before murmuring, "all wrapped up like a Christmas present, little Hermione."

"Do not talk to me like that." Hermione hissed, her face scrunching up in anger. "I am no harlot! Speak to me with some respect."

Greyback snarled at her, his grip tightening on her wrist so painfully that Hermione felt her bones grind together.

"I'll speak to you however I like, little girl," he sneered, his lips pulling back to show his pointed teeth in a vicious snarl.

There were times when being a Gryffindor was more of a downfall than a strong point. This was one of those times. Maybe, had Hermione kept a cool head, she would have seen the mounting anger and dominance radiating off the large werewolf, but, alas, she did not.

"No, you c-," she started protesting, but quickly had the wind knocked out of her, rendering her unable to talk.

She gasped as Greyback violently shoved her into the wall, her back connecting with the hard surface with a stiff thump, the impact winding her. Her head cracked against the timber wall. She gasped roughly, as Greyback fenced her between his large arms and stood uncomfortably close to her, his face right in front of her as he stooped to snarl down at her.

The sound made Hermione come down from her anger faster than she could say, 'wand.' It sounded too animal-like, too real. It didn't sound like the aggravated grumble that men usually donned with the name of a snarl. No, this was a pure, belly twisting, ear splitting, nails raking down a blackboard, snarl.

And it scared the shit out of Hermione.

She stopped struggling, staring up at him with wide eyes. She pressed herself into the wall, and bent her knees to get away from Greyback when he snarled at her again and snapped at her face with his pointed teeth, his jaws clicking together with a painful cracking sound.

"The only reason you're here, runt, is to help Snape with that damn potion," he growled, "until then, I can't touch you, but mark my words, if you piss me off more than you already have, I'll beat you so bloody the authorities won't even be able to tell that the remains belong to a human."

She cowered there for a few seconds; Greyback watching her with the eyes of a dangerous predator before he roughly grasped her upper arm and hauled her back up again, smirking triumphantly.

His voice brightened to a relaxed tone, as if he hadn't just threatened her with mutilation. "Did you know that there's a rather juicy artery on the inside of your thigh that I would just love to chew on."

He then leaned into her, making her tense like she was about to be hit, and inhaled deeply against the skin of her neck. "You do smell rather sweet."

He then pulled back to smirk at her once again. "And your thighs do look rather succulent in that tiny towel."

He was then gone before Hermione could even blink.

She stared at the empty space in shock, leaning heavily against the wall with shaking legs; the towel still clutched high on her chest as she tried to process what had just happened.

She heard the clink of china from the other room, and snapped out of the shocked haze that Greyback had left her in. She quickly scrambled to her bedroom, and shut the door behind her with a snap. She leaned heavily against the door, taking deep breaths against the panic attack that threatened to overwhelm her. She slid down the door, exhausted and frightened, only to stay there for the next three hours in silent shock.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance  
Chapter 5

'First Taste'  
.

Greyback left the next day, and didn't come back for another three weeks.

During that time Hermione spent most of her time researching with Snape and playing around with creating new spells. She wasn't a spell's mistress, but she was smart, and knew the basics. She could create little spells, but it took her a long time.

Time was something she had plenty of nowadays.

The first time she suggested something to her ex-professor, the ensuing argument was... interesting.

"That's ridiculous," he dismissed, "basilisk venom is too potent. It'll burn through his system before the neurotoxins can take effect. Besides, we only need the neurotoxins, not the hemotoxins. No one's subdivided basilisk venom before, and I suggest we don't start now."

"How can you do that?" Hermione asked shrilly, "this is Vold-"

"Do not say his name!"

"-talking about! You can't just write off something just because it's too mysterious and hasn't been explored before!" she finished, refusing to even pause for his outburst. "You know basilisk venom is the only thing more potent than V-"

She huffed angrily when Snape hissed.

"Fine, the Dark Lord then," she growled, "The basilisk is the only snake more venomous than Nagini. Judging by your notes on the Dark Lord's resurrection, he has become immune to Nagini's venom since it was one of the main ingredients in the potion."

She took a deep breath, willing the angry blush that had heated her face to die down. "Besides, I have all the time in the world to find out how to isolate the neurotoxins in the venom, so we don't really have to worry about it not being done before."

"Don't get overconfident, you insufferable know-it-all," Snape sneered, "I am no idiot. I discounted the use of basilisk venom for a reason."

He turned away from her and continued rifling through many different jars as if he had just finished the conversation. Hermione quirked her eyebrows incredulously, and placed her hands on her hips, tilting her chin defiantly.

She stared at his back before asking slowly, "Are you going to tell me your so-called reason?"

Snape stopped moving, his head turned to look at her through his curtain of greasy black hair. "We don't have as much time as you think. A year at most. Not enough to separate the toxins in the basilisk venom."

Hermione was rendered speechless. "A... a year?"

"Yes," he answered simply, "now you can see why we need to work fast. Separating basilisk venom would take years."

That had taken place two weeks after her first visit to the lab. Before that it had taken the fortnight to simply catch up on Snape's extensive notes, and understand them.

The third week was spent studying the potency of foreign plant extracts.

Hermione found herself extremely frustrated on Saturday night as she trudged up the stairs of the basement. She felt like they were getting nowhere. Basilisk venom was the obvious answer, but the fact that there was no time to find out how to break it down left them unable to use it. It was a complex compound, and she trusted Snape to know that no known magical means would help.

As she opened the doors an icy breeze hit her and she gasped, her arms rising to rub at her goose-bumped upper arms. Upon seeing the padlocked meat shed to her right, Hermione scowled. She was an idiot for not seeing it sooner, the fact that this was Greyback's house and not Snape's.

The signs were all there, right in front of her for days before it was, quite literally, pointed out to her. The meat in the shed, the lingering smell of old cigars, the lack of edible food in the cupboards, the horrifying lack of books, and the fact that it was right in the middle of the woods.

It all added up. Hermione felt rather stupid for missing it.

Breaking out of her reverie as another icy breeze hit her face and tickled the back of her neck Hermione trudged around the side of the house, making sure to keep a steady hand on the wall in case she slipped on the icy ground. Upon entering, she was blasted in the face by a hot wave of air from the fire. The sudden change in temperature stunned her for a moment and she stopped to revel in the toasty warmness of the room.

Hermione ate dinner routinely, had a shower and had gone to bed early. She snuggled up underneath the warm covers of her bed when she heard the front door click open and close. She woke instantly and tensed, having lived in a war for so many years tended to put her on her guard whenever there was a strange sound in the house.

She sat up, yanked the covers off her, and grabbed her wand off the bedside table. She clutched it hard in her hand, stance low and steady in case her door was banged down. She crept over to her door, cursing herself for not putting silencing charms on the floorboards as they creaked under her weight. Slowly, readying herself for an attack, she opened her door, and peered out into the large living room.

"What are you doing up, runt?"

Hermione jumped violently, raising her wand, ready to hex the bastard for creeping up on her like that. He was right next to her door and towering over her like an overgrown animal, his large arms folded over his broad chest. His forearms, mouth and throat were caked in blood.

Hermione's breath hitched.

"You're back," she stated dumbly, lowering her wand in case he decided to crush her into the doorframe for being a threat.

"An excellent observation," he growled dryly.

Hermione rolled her eyes in exaggeration. Not here two minutes and the man was already grating on her nerves.

"What are you doing up so early in the morning, little Hermione," he asked in a mockingly sweet voice.

"I heard you come in," she replied, frowning and tense. "Where have you been these past three weeks?"

Immediately after she grimaced, catching how Greyback licked his bloodstained lips and grinned a feral smile at her. "Actually, scratch that. I don't want to know."

"I'm sure you wouldn't," he replied idly.

He looked down at his hands, his face brightening when he caught sight of a patch of blood that hadn't dried and crusted on his skin yet. He raised his arm, and dragged his tongue along the gooey red substance, his eyes closed and a wide smile brightening his features. He hummed in satisfaction, and lapped at the area a few more times til the tanned brown of his skin showed. The action resembled a wolf cleaning its paws after a new hunt. Hermione shuddered. The metaphor suited him.

"That's disgusting," she commented before she could stop herself, her nose scrunched up in revulsion.

His eyes flashed up to hers and he grinned a pointed-toothed grin at her.

"I'd watch myself if I were you, little girl," he growled through his teeth, baring them at her warningly, "don't say things to me that you'll regret. I don't like it when people offend me and I don't forget easily."

Hermione's eyes widened in fear, memories of the last time she confronted him flashing through her mind. She nodded minutely, shrinking from him a little.

"Good girl," he rumbled, before he walked towards the bathroom.

Hermione spluttered in indignation. She hated being treated like a little girl, and for some reason the overgrown mongrel that was currently in the shower knew exactly how to push her buttons. The only problem was that he was dangerous. Clearly, he was evil too; if the amount of sadistic pleasure he gained from licking the blood from his limbs was anything to go by.

Unfortunately for her, Hermione was similar to Greyback in his regard for revenge. She hated people crossing her, and usually came up with rather Slytherin methods to get her own back. The word, 'Pervert,' printed permanently along Cormack McLaggen's forehead was testament to that.

And it was at this point that Hermione allowed her anger to boil into a rather stupid amount of vengeful abhorrence. She was still a hormonal young woman, having just come out of adolescence, and had a temper to boot. Not to mention being a Gryffindor resulted in an appalling lack of forethought.

For such a clever woman, her temper really did result in her doing some rather stupid things.

Like storming out the house and going for a walk in the middle of the woods.

It was dawn, and so the light in the forest was lower than it normally was. The trees seemed to take on a two dimensional form. They looked black, until she went up to them and just barely caught the differing tones in the bark. The snow that was exposed to the sky reflected off the warm yellows and reds of the sunrise, creating patches of different coloured hues on the ground.

Hermione shivered and wrapped herself tighter in her cloak.

The cold air had brought her down from her anger, and the exercise had removed the adrenaline brought on by Greyback from her system. Now she was simply feeling stupid. She had let her temper get the better of her, and was now wondering around a huge forest, probably getting lost, and would most likely have to explain to Greyback why she ran off. Talk about embarrassing.

Getting lost didn't worry her particularly. She was an Animagus, she was sure she could follow her scent back to the cabin.

Hermione kept walking, her boots crunching in the snow, and the occasional icy breeze that wound its way around the many large trees would cause her to shiver and pull her cloak tighter.

Naturally, it came as a huge surprise when she was suddenly grasped by her neck and shoved into the trunk of a tree. Hard.

Hermione gasped, both from the impact and surprise, but found the air had difficulty moving down her windpipe by the hand that was grasping her neck tightly. She fumbled with the clawed fingers, and attempted to pry them off her but they wouldn't even budge.

Being suffocated was a horrible feeling. Whoever said it was a peaceful way to die was an idiot. She felt like her windpipe was being crushed against her spine.

She thrashed around wildly, her legs kicking out, hoping to cause some damage to the werewolf who was snarling dangerously at her, his pointed teeth bared, his countenance livid. He squeezed her neck so hard that her eyes watered, her mouth hung open in a futile attempt at gaining a single breath of air.

"I'm getting tired of you already," he snarled down at her, the sound ripping up his throat like nails being raked along a blackboard. "And I haven't even been here for two hours."

Hermione batted at his hands again weakly, feeling her face heat up in a blush caused by the lack of circulation to her head. Black spots erupted in front of her eyes, and she felt like her brain was in a vacuum.

Greyback must have seen her losing consciousness because he dropped her and lightly tapped her face with the back of his hand to bring her back to alertness. He let her gasp for air for a few seconds before he grasped the front of her cloak, the fabric bunching in his large hand, and roughly shoved her into the tree.

Hermione's back grated along the bark, and she was thankful that her cloak was so thick because she realised that, had it been any thinner, her back would look like shredded cheese after Greyback was done with her.

"Look," he snarled, "I don't care why you left, but you better get yourself back to my house before I decide to carry you there, and mark my words you won't be in one piece if I do. I'll carry you there limb by limb after I've ripped them off you."

Hermione gulped, only to dissolve into a fit of coughs at the motion. Her throat burned and heaved with the exertion, and the lack of saliva had the muscles in her throat grinding together like two pieces of rough concrete.

When she looked up, tears in her eyes, he was gone.

She made it back to the cabin as quickly as she could, not wanting to see if he would follow through with his threat.

Judging by his temper, he wouldn't be disinclined to do it, whether or not he needed her to help Snape with the potion. She was sure his logic would follow along the line that he could beat her up as long as she was able to continue with the research. He could bruise her where the others wouldn't see, and she would be too proud to tell them as well.

She was in a rather problematic situation, and there was no way of getting out of it.

Hermione walked into the cabin, head hung, partially in shame for a reason she didn't know why, and partially because she was a little scared to look Greyback in the eyes. They didn't talk to each other.

Not a word.

Dinner time came, and Hermione shuffled out of her room where she had been hiding from the imposing werewolf sitting in the living room. Greyback was sitting in front of the fire, a cheap cigar in one hand and a tumbler of whiskey in the other. His head tilted a little in her direction when Hermione emerged from her room, but he gave no other indication that he knew she was there. She stopped and regarded him.

He was striking, in a feral sort of way. And scary as hell, too.

He wasn't stupid either, like she had thought before. There was a glint of intelligence that shone in his eyes. She didn't know why she had thought him stupid before. Probably because she just thought of him as Voldemort's muscle. A brute.

She shook herself out of her reverie when she heard his soft grunt as Greyback stood from the chair. He took one last drag of his cigar, before placing it down, smoking, the end still bright red, and placed his empty whiskey tumbler next to it. Without a word he left the house, the door shutting closed behind him with a bang. He didn't even take his trademark black, blood encrusted cloak. He just walked out bare-chested into the freezing night.

Hermione shook her head, frowning at the man's behaviour and instead made her way into the kitchen, intent on eating her sorrows away with a good plate of hot Alfredo.

His departure relieved her somewhat. She didn't care how callous his leaving was, just as long as he stayed away. She knew that, deep down, all these men were borderline maniacs. They were evil, all of them, except for maybe Snape, and she knew that the only reason they were working to kill Voldemort was because they weren't gaining anything from working for him. She just didn't know personal details, and she wanted to keep it that way.

She also knew that deep down, she was kind of sad to see Greyback go. She only really had two days where she was exposed to human contact and that was when Snape was working with her in the lab. Those times they hardly talked, and if they did it was to argue about certain possibilities regarding the potion. It wasn't really the type of companionship she craved.

Perhaps if she reined in her temper enough she would be able to at least have an amiable conversation with Greyback. Maybe.

She sighed somewhat sadly, the news of being alone again sending her into a numb melancholy. At least if Greyback were here, he could make her angry. Make her feel something other than self-pity.

She walked into the kitchen, her bare feet padding along the cold tiles as she flitted around for ingredients.

Again, it came as a huge surprise when she heard a loud slap from behind her. She jumped violently, the knife she was using to cut mushrooms slipping in her grip and slashing a deep gash along the skin of her thumb. She hissed, dropped the offending utensil and sucked the deep, bleeding wound in her flesh.

"Damn it," she swore angrily before swinging around to face the large werewolf, an irate frown marring her features.

"Don't you know not to sneak up on people?" she hissed.

"My apologies," he rumbled with a condescending nod of his head before he smirked at her and licked his lips, his nostrils flaring. His eyes flashed down and Hermione followed the movement, realising that he could probably scent her blood, which was currently winding its way down her thumb in a thin red tendril.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him but didn't say anything.

She turned to the sink, washed her hands again, gritting her teeth as the soap burned her wound, before she returned to chopping her vegetables.

Silence filled the room... for a grand total of three seconds.

Greyback cleared his throat.

Hermione ignored him, thinking that he was doing just that, with no ulterior motivation. She was wrong. He cleared his throat again twice, each time getting louder.

Hermione sighed, placed her knife down carefully and turned to him with a baleful glare.

"Yes?" she asked lowly.

He looked pointedly at the island in the middle of the kitchen.

Hermione followed the movement, only to gape at what was lying in the middle. There was at least two kilograms worth of meat lying in a bloody pool on the countertop. It had freckles of ice encrusted all over it, and as it melted it diluted the blood, giving it a garish pink hue as it rested on the white tabletop.

Hermione raised her eyes back to the werewolf in front of her.

"What do you want me to do with that?" she asked incredulously.

"What else, woman?" he grunted, looking exasperated, "cook it."

Hermione's eyes flashed angrily.

"Excuse me?" she asked slowly, tilting her chin defiantly, readying herself for another verbal, and most likely, physical spar.

"You heard me," he growled, bringing himself to his full gargantuan height. "Women are the cooks, not the men."

Hermione's eyes flashed again, and her face scrunched up with the effort not to look exasperated. She failed dismally.

She took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose before practically shouting, "You are unquestionably _ancient_ in your sensibilities if you follow that ideology! I am not your nurse! Cook it yourself!"

Greyback's face fell into a snarl, his pointed teeth baring at her once again in warning. "You will do as I say, little girl."

"I will do what I like," Hermione retorted hotly.

He growled, advancing on her slowly, like he was stalking prey, "then you won't last long here."

Hermione, despite herself, took a step back from him, her eyes widening at his threatening posture.

Being an Animagus resulted in many things other than purely transforming into an animal. It also resulted in some of their animal behavioural characteristics flowing into her human life, just as her human characteristics flowed into her animal form. She was now able to read body language fairly well, and found herself to be quite a tactile person, rather prone to hugs and physical intimacy, something that her bookish tendencies disallowed her to crave before.

Unfortunately, this also tended to work against her when there was another dominant animal in the vicinity. Hermione's animal side was screaming for her to submit, to roll on her back, belly up and let him do what he wanted to her. The other feminist side of her was screaming that she was equal to him and should stand up for herself.

And so, naturally, she settled for half way. Her body language screamed submissiveness, while her words, quite literally, screamed outrage.

"I," she stated slowly, as if explaining something to a particularly obtuse child, "refuse... to cook you dinner... like some trained housewife."

Her eyes were lowered to the ground submissively, and so naturally she didn't see his hand raise and snatch up the front of her shirt in a death grip. Upon being shook violently, however, her eyes raised, wide and fearful, only to meet the stormy grey pools of Fenrir Greyback's.

"You listen to me, and you listen good, girl," he snarled, "I am the alpha and you will do as I say. I won't be disrespected by a runt who's barely out of nappies, you hear me."

She opened her mouth to retort, but closed it with a snap when he gave her another shake and a pointed look that said, ' _back down. Now.'_

She took the hint, but not for long.

Hermione stared up at him furiously, her own lip curled up into a snarl. She met his gaze defiantly, ignoring how her hackles raised in protest and self-preservation.

She said one word, slowly, deliberately, "no."

Greyback snarled at her again, his free hand coming up to grasp her hair and yank her head sideways.

Hermione fought valiantly, kicking and clawing to get out of his grip, but to no avail. He yanked on her hair painfully, making her gasp at the sting in her scalp. She fell rigid in his grasp when he leaned forward, effectively boxing her in with his bulk.

He yanked her head sideways again so that the tender skin of her neck was exposed to him. He growled once more in warning when she struggled slightly. Hermione let out a frightened whimper, feeling dreadfully exposed as the weakest spot of her anatomy was left bare to his deadly claws.

She closed her eyes, panting due to the adrenaline coursing through her veins, her heart thumping madly within her chest. They snapped back open again when Greyback suddenly latched onto her tender skin, on the juncture where her shoulder met her neck. She felt him worry the skin between his pointed teeth, the canines digging into her flesh just enough to cause a sting.

She bit her lip; feeling rather trapped as he tried to dominate her, and attempted to struggle away.

Greyback's head rose, only to snarl at her again and latch on once more to her neck, only this time his canines piercing her flesh like he was biting through butter. Hermione gasped at the sting, but this time stood still as she was met with the strange sensation of her blood literally being _sucked_ out of her. Her eyes widened and she clutched at the bare arm that had now relaxed its grip on her hair.

The sting was long gone, and the sensation of Greyback's mouth on her made her knees weak. She attempted to lean back on the counter for support, only to have him gurgle a warning growl at her through the wound in her neck. His hand released her hair, and he instead wound it around her waist and let her lean her weight into his strength. She kept her head where it was, submissively arched, and allowed him to take from her whatever he wanted.

Greyback shuffled closer to her, not once letting go from the wound in her neck. He had stopped sucking on it, though he continued to lap at it contentedly, his tongue swirling around to catch the last dregs of blood that escaped before the wound clotted. He pulled Hermione closer, so that her small form was pressed flush to his, and he let out a satisfied rumble.

Unknown to her, Hermione was clutching at him, her eyes closed as she secretly relished in his attentions. He had gentled half way through. Instead of gnawing at her neck like a dominant alpha male, he instead slowed down til he was merely enjoying the wine that was her blood. She was thankful that he realised that she had submitted to him, disliking his brutal behaviour.

Briefly, Hermione wondered why the juncture between her thighs was so hot, and why she felt an idle need suddenly pulsate within her being, feeling a rush of excitement within her that had nothing to do with danger-induced adrenaline.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance  
Chapter 6

'Betrayal'  
.

Three months passed, and Hermione was getting more and more aggravated. She had gotten permission to research in the lab during the day by Snape, just as long as she didn't touch the trial potions when he wasn't there. The library in the basement had since expanded as Snape brought in books for Hermione to rifle through.

Despite what he had told her, Hermione still researched ways to possibly split the DNA in the basilisk venom. She did this in her free time, late at night after dinner. So far, no means had become a possibility, but Hermione was persistent. She would find a way, whether Snape helped her or not.

In the afternoons she would search for tracking spells so that they could locate the Horcruxes and destroy them. Apparently the men had compiled a list of possible Horcruxes, but they still had no idea where Voldemort had placed them.

Rodolphus Lestrange had given Hermione a rather interesting insight on the Dark Lord in one of their meetings. Despite herself, Hermione was bursting out laughing at his description.

"The Dark Lord is like a magpie," he murmured nonchalantly before he took a sip of his whiskey. "His beady little eyes scout out anything of worth, and he hoards them within his little nest."

He then took on a contemplative look and added, "Not to mention he tries to peck your eyes out if you get too close to his nest, the nasty bastard."

Hermione giggled again at the recollection. Rodolphus was a very blasé man, and his comparison of the most evil wizard to an aggressive little black and white bird was rather humorous. Despite herself, Hermione found that she was getting fonder of the men in the group. She didn't speak to them much on a personal level, but they all had a rather morbid sense of humour that they shared with each other at group meetings. She found she rather liked Rodolphus. He was cheeky, in a snooty sort of way, and always found ways to jab at Hermione just to get a rise out of her. She learnt very quickly that he absolutely loathed his wife, and couldn't wait to kill her.

His words exactly were, "I can't wait to watch her drown in a pool of her own blood, the crazy bitch."

Rabastan was a quiet fellow, unless he had a definite opinion. He had a very analytical brain, Hermione discovered, and rarely made a decision until he had observed every aspect of a situation. Naturally, he and Snape got on brilliantly.

Snape was as blunt as ever, though it seemed he had refrained from being positively abusive like he had in school. Hermione had inquired upon this one time, and the only explanation she got was that he needed to keep his cover as a Death Eater, even when in the presence of underage wizards. Hermione supposed that the Death Eater's children all reported back to their parents, and if Snape didn't show blatant favouritism to his students then they would become suspicious. The poor guy.

Greyback left for weeks at a time. After he bit her he had only come back twice, though those two times he stayed longer than before. The previous time he stayed for four days, something that had surprised Hermione to no end. Each time, though, Hermione would always find herself on the receiving end of his dominant instincts. She supposed, being raised by Muggles, she had learned to be a self-dependant woman, and now that a man was expecting her to take care of him, with nothing in return, it riled her to no end. Naturally, she fought back, only to have him corner her and bite into her neck once more. Thankfully, she was quickly learning that life was much nicer if she just did what he said.

Thanks to him, her neck was constantly bruised, tender, and scabbed. Thanks to the position, she was always aware of it too. Whenever she turned her head, her neck would throb, like a constant reminder that she was his.

The first time she transformed into her animal form after he bit her; Hermione learnt the extent of his 'ownership' over her. In animal form her senses expanded and cleared. This in itself meant that she could detect things more clearly than when in her human form. Unfortunately for her, her sense of smell detected the scent of Greyback emanating from her, especially at the point on her neck. The scent simply meant, ' _Mine.'_ Naturally, Hermione was furious.

Soon after, she was also reminded of the repercussions of a werewolf bite. Thankfully, he was never in wolf form when he bit her, and so she was not a werewolf herself, but she soon found she had gained a new appreciation for meat, and although she had found it disgusting before, Hermione liked it done _rare_. Not just rare, but a wet sort of rare. She liked her meat tender, and red with blood. She also found that, even with her slightly enhanced animal instincts gained from being an Animagus, she found herself even more attuned to them after being bitten. She supposed this was a reason why she was becoming so submissive to Greyback.

He, himself, was a tactile creature, and he had lately taken to coming so close to her that she would immediately arch her neck to the side for him. He would rumble a chuckle in her ear and nibble at her mark, his large hands resting on her hips before he would pull away, satisfied, and continue with whatever it was that he was doing before.

Hermione was brought out of her pondering when a slapping sound met her ears. She jumped, raised her gaze from the tabletop, and, once again, found a lump of dripping red meat on the island in the middle of the kitchen. Greyback was standing behind it looking at her expectantly.

Hermione scowled. "Dinnertime I guess?"

He merely smirked at her in response.

Hermione rolled her eyes, sighing exasperatedly, but stood up anyways, and made dinner.

When she set the steaming plate in front of him he scowled.

Hermione sighed again. "What now?"

Greyback looked up at her, his nose scrunched up in distaste.

"This," he growled slowly, "is not _rare_."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione replied sweetly, batting her eyelashes at him with a condescending smile. "By rare did you mean that you wanted it raw but heated up?"

Greyback growled at her warningly. "Don't get cocky with me."

Hermione sighed once again and slumped in her chair. Each time she cooked for him he complained how overcooked the meat was. She was starting to think that he really did want his meat simply heated up. She shuddered at the thought of the amount of bacteria that would enter his system if she didn't cook it properly.

She watched, lips pursed in annoyance as Greyback 'forced' his food down with a scowl.

When he was finished he simply stood up, his chair scraping along the tiles, and rumbled, "Make it _rare_ next time."

Hermione simply scowled in response.

Later that evening, a meeting was called. The men all arrived within a few minutes of each other. They all chatted amiably for a few minutes. Greyback, Snape and Lucius Malfoy all drank whiskey together, all three of them looking imposing and rather intimidating as they sat around the fire. Rabastan and Rodolphus were arguing, looking very much like the bickering siblings they were.

What did surprise her, however, was when Narcissa Malfoy came and sat down next to Hermione. As far as she knew, the Malfoy matriarch was not part of their little band of rebels, and so Hermione wondered idly why the older woman was here, sitting next to her of all places.

"Good evening," Mrs. Malfoy greeted stiffly.

She was sitting much like Hermione expected a pureblood woman of any stature to sit. Her back was stiff as a board, her hands folded elegantly in her lap, her legs together, but not crossed, and slightly tucked off to the side. Her head was tilted upwards, her chin sticking out regally.

"Hello," Hermione greeted in response, feeling a little intimidated by the powerful blonde sitting next to her.

Hermione swallowed nervously.

An awkward pause befell the two women, and before Hermione could start babbling nervously, the elder Malfoy spoke, "I was wondering if you would indulge me in a game of chess later. I hear you are a rather formidable opponent."

Hermione only nodded dumbly in response, an idle warning sounding off in the back of her mind that rang, ' _you're terrible at chess. Which idiot did you beat that could possibly have connections to the Malfoy's? Something strange is going in here.'_

Hermione's pondering was cut short by Lucius Malfoy walking up to his wife, and holding out his elegant hand to help her up. Hermione had always thought the couple was cold to each other, but she couldn't miss the small, grateful, utterly adoring smile that Narcissa gave her husband as she placed her hand in his. Along with this, although Lucius' face was a mask of cold indifference, Hermione could detect the warmth in his eyes as he looked upon the tall blonde woman.

Hermione quickly looked away from the intimate display, feeling somehow that she was prying upon their private business. She instead stood up, smoothing out her clothes purely because it was habit, and walked over to the kitchen where the dining room table was. She sat down, waiting for the meeting to start.

The beginning was boring. Rabastan reported little, as did Lucius. Hermione was surprised when Narcissa added her bit. Apparently she was the eyes and ears of the pureblood social chain. She was a good asset to have, as she knew which of the up-and-rising purebloods that would push their children into becoming Death Eater's. She warned Snape about a young Ravenclaw girl in second year that apparently had rather fanatical pureblood parents. Snape assured her he would do all he could to keep the girl on course.

Snape had a little more to report. It seemed a few young Slytherin seventh years as well as, surprisingly to Hermione, a Gryffindor seventh year, would most likely be looking to join the Death Eater ranks, and that they had to do whatever they could to stop them. Apparently pureblood society indulged themselves in frequent galas and balls in which provided ample opportunity in feeding ideas to weak minds. Lucius assured them that he would hold a fund raising ball at the ministry which they could use to possibly send the youngsters back on track.

Rodolphus on the other hand, had much to report on. As it turns out, he is rather apt at Legilimency. Though not as naturally skilled as Snape, he found it quite easy to enter the minds of those who did not protect them. His wife was one such individual. Her being crazy had made her mind vulnerable to scrutiny, and Rodolphus had found a rather interesting set of information from it.

As it turns out, what with Bellatrix being Voldemort's 'squeeze' as Greyback put it, Bellatrix had been entrusted with the information of Voldemort's plan of infiltrating the ministry and gaining all known building records of Hogwarts. Apparently, Dumbledore had ensured that the blueprints would be sealed in a heavily protected area, since the minister had insisted, for some reason that eluded everyone, that the blueprints remain at the ministry.

The rest of the meeting was discussed on how to get to the blueprints before the Dark Lord did.

Once the meeting was over, plan partially formulated, the men sat down to an evening of quiet socialising, something that Hermione learned that they couldn't do without the issue of possible imposters listening in on their conversations. Hermione had never seen the men so relaxed, and she felt, for the first time in her life, a small pang of sympathy for the five men in the room, who it seemed, had been thrust into a world where trust was a word one hardly ever heard.

Narcissa quickly reminded Hermione that she had agreed to play a game of chess with her. Hermione merely nodded uncomfortably to the woman, and gestured for her to lead the way to the dusty chessboard that was lodged in the corner of the room.

The two women sat down on opposite ends of the table, Narcissa looking upon the dusty pieces with distaste before she swept her wand over them til they were squeaky clean and shining. They played in silence for a grand total of five minutes.

Narcissa spoke, surprising Hermione with her words.

"Despite your questionable lineage," that Malfoy matriarch stated, not once raising her eyes from the chessboard to meet Hermione's startled ones, "I believe that the men have entrusted their faith in you."

Only then did Narcissa raise her eyes to Hermione's. She levelled the younger woman with a stare that had Hermione frozen in her seat. It was boiling, despite the cold blue of her eyes, and fiercely protective.

"I, for one, am not completely convinced of your reliability, but it has been pointed out to me that I have no say in the matter," Narcissa's eyes flittered to her husband's before she continued, "I will only say this."

She once again levelled Hermione with her hot stare, "these men have been working for years to bring down our Lord in the hopes that he will not enslave the wizarding world. We learnt our lessons long ago. He will not reward us like he has promised. He will create a totalitarian world, in which no one will prosper but he. I hope that you realise that they have entrusted a great deal of faith in you and your abilities to help them. Do not let them down."

Narcissa's eyes dropped to the board once again, and she moved her queen before murmuring slowly, "checkmate."

-0-0-0-0-

Narcissa Malfoy's warning shot Hermione straight to the core, and instead of intimidating her, it made Hermione determined to prove to the older woman that she was, in fact, worthy of the men's trust. She worked to the point that Greyback had to fight through Snape's extensive wards, and drag her to bed.

That had happened two nights in a row after Narcissa's warning, and Greyback came every time to get her to sleep. He only left once she started sleeping normally again, which was nearly one-and-a-half weeks later. The length of his stay surprised Hermione to no end, but she was grateful for the company.

Life went on as normal as it could be til nearly two weeks later.

Snape and Hermione were both working in the lab, bickering as usual, when both of them doubled over in pain, each one hissing as they clutched their forearms.

" _Fuck_ ," Snape swore acidly, his face contorted into a painful sneer.

Hermione looked over at him, wide eyed, and startled by his language, before she stood up straight again.

"Be careful, sir," she warned, feeling the small pang of worry for the dark man in front of her.

He merely glanced in her direction before nodding stiffly in thanks, and leaving the room in a flourish of robes. Hermione idly rubbed her arm, feeling her flesh squirm uncomfortably as the Dark Mark writhed on her skin. She was surprised by how few and far between the Dark Lord's meetings were. She had suspected before, that they were summoned quite often, though she didn't have a reason why. Now she knew for a fact that the men weren't summoned more than once a month unless Voldemort had a large scheme that would take place soon.

She always worried dreadfully when they were summoned. She knew that, at the start, she had told herself that she would remain indifferent towards them, but now, after working with them for over five months, and learning that there was much more to them than being evil Death Eater's, Hermione found herself fluttering around like a mother hen who had lost her chicks.

She _liked_ them for them, despite their pureblood fanatics, and _worried_ for their safety.

Good lord, what would Harry and Ron think?

-0-0-0-0-

Fenrir was chopping wood for the monthly lunar festival in his village when a silver Patronus floated up to him. He looked up from the dried trunk he was hacking at, his brow sweaty with the work, and frowned.

It was an octopus. The Dark Lord's Patronus.

Fenrir was bemused. The Dark Lord rarely summoned anyone via Patronus due to its... unique form. This must really be an important meeting.

He stood straight quickly, wiping his hair out of his eyes, and brought the axe down on the fallen trunk hard enough that it would stay lodged there til he returned. He ran back to the village to inform his beta that he was leaving. He barked orders to those that he passed before he grabbed his cloak, swung it over his shoulders, and loped to the apparition point just beyond the village.

Fenrir apparated to Malfoy Manor with a loud, uncontrollable crack of thunder.

He was always a messy at apparating. He never once splinched himself, but the air always rumbled and thundered when he apparated. It wasn't similar to the sound of a gun like other wizards produced, but instead mimicked the sound of thunder and lightning striking the ground, causing the air to expand with uncontrollable amounts of heat and electricity. He supposed it had something to do with his character. He was uncontrollable, and unpredictable, and so thus was his apparition. The other wizards had self control, and were able to land their apparition in a more refined way.

He didn't care. He'd have thunder over some flimsy firecracker any day.

Greyback walked through the Malfoy lawns, ignoring the 'stay off the grass' signs and simply trudged through the grounds directly towards the manor. A few of the Malfoy peacocks came over inquisitively, but soon backed away, squawking their warnings to the others about the predator prowling the grounds. A particularly cocky one strutted up too close to Fenrir, and he snarled, kicking out at the feathered rat. It squawked, a few feathers dropping to the ground in its panic as it scrambled away.

Greyback rumbled an annoyed growl, feeling his lips pull back involuntarily. Nasty things, those birds. He needed to talk to Lucius about slaughtering them.

As soon as his foot came in contact with one of the many steps leading up to the grand front doors of Malfoy manor, he was met with yellow light streaming onto his face. The doors had opened on well oiled hinges, the grand atrium of Malfoy Manor shining through the grey autumn day. The muffled sounds of the many Death Eaters talking inside met Fenrir's sensitive ears, and they pricked when he heard Bellatrix's shrill screech of laughter pierce through the chatter.

He grimaced, his pointed teeth bared in a silent snarl at the woman's revolting behaviour. He had wanted to kill her the first time he met her. The crazy woman's laughter was enough to drive anyone up the wall, and he had started climbing the first time she had opened her mouth to squeal a disdainful greeting to him. She was crazy, as loony as they could get, and what was worse, she thought herself above him. He remembered itching to dislocate her chin from her skull at the sight of her tilting it upwards in haughty arrogance.

The move was somewhat similar to little Hermione's, though the younger woman often lifted her chin in an attempt to level herself with those who thought themselves higher than her, not to look down on others.

Hermione Granger.

The girl was an enigma. She fought him every chance she got, but she never truly challenged his authority. She only pushed him so far before she backed down. It was almost like she was goading him...

Or seducing him.

The one female that would stand up to him. It was enough to get him panting like a dog watching a bitch in heat.

And that hair. It was the first thing he noticed, and he was entranced the very second he laid eyes on the mess. It was tangled, frizzy, and wild. Uncontrollable. He adored it, watching as she brushed it away from her face, or flung it over her shoulder as she poured over a book by the fire. He especially loved it when it frizzed and crackled when she was angry. It seemed as if currents of magical energy would run through her hair when she was aggravated or livid.

He yearned to touch it whenever he laid eyes on the tangled mess, to weave it in his fingers. To grip it as he pounded into her...

Fenrir literally shook himself from his thoughts, stopping abruptly and shaking his head from side to side like a wet dog.

He couldn't be having these thoughts now! He was just about to enter a meeting with the Dark-Bastard-Who-Refused-To-Die and he was thinking about the nubile little chit waiting at home for him.

Fenrir quickly cleared his head and put up his Occlumency walls over the areas he didn't want probed by the Dark Lord before he made his way into the large drawing room that looked like it currently held only Voldemort's inner circle. A group of ten or so Death Eater's were sitting around the grand fire in the drawing room, each one of them either nursing a drink, a cigar, or both. The women had wine, and the men had whiskey or scotch.

Fenrir quickly spotted Severus, and like many times before joined the man in the shadows. Both did this during each meeting, rather proffering to watch unnoticed as the grand purebloods talked among themselves. It was during one of those times, where the pair were talking about nothing in particular when Snape suddenly looked at Fenrir with a piercing gaze and 'accused' him of having doubts about the Dark Lord. Fenrir, being the man that he was, nearly exploded. He became so defensive of himself that he had gone so far as to attempt to give Snape a black eye. But Severus being Severus, quickly dodged and explained that he felt the same way. That was the night the pair had formed an alliance of sorts. That was nearly four years ago now, and since then they had recruited the others. Lucius had been there from the beginning.

They all had their place in the group. Severus, and now the runt, did the research. Lucius provided the funding. Rodolphus and Rabastan provided the location and spell to find the soul fragments. And Fenrir provided the numbers.

Once the final battle came, his wolves would be there to rip out any Death Eater's throat that got in the way of the Dark Lord's life and whoever was going to kill him.

Fenrir was brought out of his thoughts when his ears caught the purposeful strides of his lord coming down the stairs of the atrium.

Soon enough, he entered the drawing room and all the Death Eater's dropped to their knees in respect. The Dark Lord sat in a throne like chair and his eyes swept over all his faithful subjects.

"Rise," he hissed, and they all complied, though they kept their heads down. Even Fenrir did this, though he loathed doing so.

He bowed his head to no one, especially an overgrown snake like the man standing in front of him.

He couldn't wait to sink his claws into the man's carcass and strip his skin off him, sliver by sliver. Fenrir briefly wondered if they'd let him dissect the Dark Lord's brain after he died. Maybe he had an abnormal growth in there that made him as crazy as he is now. Hmm...

He was brought out of his morbid thoughts once again when the Dark Lord spoke, "I called you all here tonight because I have pressing information to impart on you all, and a message of warning to all of you except one."

Fenrir glanced up at his lord, and noticed that all the others had abandoned propriety and were looking at the Dark Lord with badly concealed fear. A message of warning equated to a torture session. Every Death Eater except one was going have the Cruciatus inflicted on them tonight. Fenrir raised his eyes to the ceiling. Fantastic.

"There is one member in this room whose performance I am very impressed with," the Dark Lord continued, pausing for effect. "Severus, step up."

Greyback noticed the stiff set of Severus's shoulders as he walked up to the Dark Lord. He was almost glad he wasn't the supposed one who had impressed their master since that meant he wouldn't have to go any closer to him than necessary.

The Dark Lord stood from his throne when Snape kneeled at his feet.

He started pacing around Severus, his spidery fingers scratching his chin nonchalantly.

"I must admit I am impressed, Severus," the Dark Lord hissed, "very impressed indeed."

He then paused in front of Severus. "Look at me."

Snape looked up, and met the red eyes of his master. Suddenly he went rigid, his hands curling into fists, his knuckles clicking from the tension in his fingers.

Something was wrong. Fenrir frowned, and glanced at Lucius questioningly. Lucius merely gave a small shake of his head, conveying that he wasn't sure what was happening either.

"It took you two decades to be found out Severus," the Dark Lord hissed, clapping his hands in applauds, "I am impressed, very impressed indeed. Your Occlumency is much more developed than I had thought."

Snape's face was as blank as one's face could be when a great shock was set upon them. His muscles were rigid, his eyes wide, his nostrils flared. Fenrir could smell the fear and adrenaline rolling off the dark haired man in waves.

Fenrir's eyes went wide.

Fuck. Snape had been caught.

Fenrir had tensed a long time ago, his eyes flickering to the Lestrange brothers, and then to Lucius. All three of them were just as wide eyed as Snape was, their shoulders tensed. Rodolphus even rolled onto the balls of his feet as if ready to attack.

Fenrir slowly and silently made his way to Rodolphus, knowing the oldest Lestrange was most likely going to do something rash very soon. Fenrir stopped behind the bearded man.

"Calm," he rumbled in the man's ear, warning him not to do anything stupid.

Rodolphus rolled back onto his heels, but his eyes flickered from Severus to the Dark Lord, and then around the room, most likely formulating a plan in that brilliant head of his. Greyback let him do the planning, knowing the man could come up with hundreds of possible escapes in minutes.

Fenrir watched as the Dark Lord forced Snape to turn around and face the other Death Eater's.

"My loyal servants," the Dark Lord hissed, addressing the rest of the Death Eater's, "this is the face of the greatest traitor our ranks have seen yet."

The Death Eater's hissed like angry snakes, their wands out and pointing at Snape in a matter of seconds, four among them taking a little longer than the others to unsheathe their wands.

The Dark Lord chuckled. "Be calm. We will get our just revenge."

He then forced Snape to look at him. "Would you like to know where you went wrong Severus, hm?"

Snape merely glared at the Dark Lord with such raging revulsion that made Fenrir proud. A more fickle man would have pissed himself if he were in the same situation as Snape.

The Dark Lord ignored Snape's look and continued taunting him. "It was Granger you know."

He smirked mockingly at Snape and circled him again. "Whatever little establishment you have out in Bunloinn forest isn't completely warded. There is a small crack in the enchantments, and every Tuesday between four in the afternoon and ten in the evening, you and Miss Granger pass through that crack. Twice."

Fenrir balked. Severus and Hermione went into the basement to do their experiments on Tuesdays. That meant the crack was between the front door and the basement.

Fenrir glanced at Rodolphus, and then to Rabastan and Lucius. All men met his gaze, shaking their heads silently, not knowing what to do.

Fenrir watched as Snape was put under the Cruciatus curse, courtesy of Bellatrix, feeling pride well up within him when his friend didn't even release a moan. He started to become worried as time passed. The curse hadn't been lifted for nearly three minutes, any longer without interval and there might be repercussions that would damage Severus beyond future help.

He jumped when he felt a familiar prodding in his mind. His head swung around and met the gaze of Rodolphus who was looking at him intently.

' _We need a plan,'_ Rodolphus' voice echoed in his head. ' _Severus will get killed if we don't do something.'_

Fenrir nodded minutely. ' _What do we do?'_

' _We need to distract the others long enough for Severus to escape. He only needs a few seconds to get out into the atrium. From there he can apparate. I'll get Lucius to drop the wards.'_

Fenrir nodded again. _'And the distraction?'_

Rodolphus took a deep breath, his eyes trailing over to Severus in slight dread. ' _I don't know.'_

The two men watched silently, both their minds reeling with distractions that would actually work. They could set off a curse somewhere in the room, but the spells could be traced, and the Dark Lord would know they had done it on purpose.

They needed a spontaneous distraction, something that was believable, yet large enough to draw the attention to something other than Snape.

Suddenly an idea came to Fenrir. A feral smile overtook his features, and he flexed his fingers in anticipation.

The cracking sound must have drawn the attention of Rodolphus as he prodded Fenrir's mind once more. ' _What are you thinking, Fenrir? I know that look, and it's one that means trouble.'_

Fenrir's smirk widened and he idly ran his tongue over his elongated canines. _"Before the Dark Lord casts the killing curse, bump into me accidentally.'_

Rodolphus looked baffled, but tilted his head in a small nod of acquiescence.

That moment didn't take particularly long to come about. The Dark Lord called off Bella when he noticed Snape starting to convulse erratically. Bella looked forlorn and slightly reproachful, but acquiesced, her wand dropping to her side, but still twitching as if the instrument itself desperately wanted to curse Snape.

Voldemort circled the quivering Severus, calling harsh taunts to him, telling him he was nothing better than his drunken bastard of a muggle father. That got Snape riled. Fenrir watched, with a small amount of awe, as the thin man slowly stood, and dared the Dark Lord with his stare to kill him.

Voldemort himself looked thoroughly unimpressed by Snape's defiance and lack of violent retort.

"Goodbye, Severus," the Dark Lord hissed, raising his wand.

At that moment Fenrir felt Rodolphus move and bump his shoulder into him.

He himself realised that it was a previously discussed action between him and Lestrange, but an animalistic part in him screamed indignation. _No one_ bumped into him like Rodolphus had.

He had control of his urges, but it wasn't that hard to fake anger, in fact he didn't really have to fake at all. His lips pulled back in a snarl, and his head whipped around to glare maliciously at Lestrange.

Rodolphus himself must have realised what bumping into Fenrir had meant. The plan was to start a muggle fight, and Rodolphus looked thoroughly shocked and rather put out. Fenrir never fought fairly, and that meant that Rodolphus was probably going to be going home with a black eye.

Rodolphus didn't even move when Fenrir landed a punch on him, a snarl ripping up his throat from deep within his chest. The oldest Lestrange brother stumbled back, his hand clutching his eye instinctually and tumbled into another Death Eater, causing three or more of them to fall on each other in a heap on the floor.

Lucius dragged his eyes away from Severus when he heard the ruckus, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise when he found Rodolphus rolling on the ground, with a snarling Fenrir on top of him. Lucius sneered at the sight. Fenrir was never above muggle brawling. In fact, Lucius had an inkling that Fenrir rather enjoyed it. Nonetheless, Lucius' nose scrunched up in distaste, and he shuffled further away from the pair of purebloods who were currently landing punches on one another like testosterone fuelled Muggles.

Fenrir felt the adrenaline start to pump within his body, causing his movements to become sloppy enough for Rodolphus to land a few punches on him as well. He snarled louder, but before he could retaliate, he found himself frozen, his hands and legs snapped together like a plank, only his eyes able to move. He rolled off Rodolphus, who hadn't been cursed, and landed face first on the Persian carpet.

He was roughly nudged over so that he was on his back and found the Dark Lord glaring down at him, his read eyes burning with fury. Fenrir inwardly sighed. He didn't want to think of what type of punishment he would receive for distracting the Dark Lord from his kill.

"You will pay dearly for stooping so low as muggle brawling, Fenrir," the Dark Lord hissed, "You better hope that your reasons to attack Rodolphus were justified."

The Dark Lord then turned back to where Severus had been. Fenrir couldn't see, but judging by the infuriated roar that ripped up from the Dark Lord's throat, Severus had gotten away. Had he been able to move, Fenrir would have smiled a feral, triumphant smile. As long as Snape got in the grounds of Hogwarts, or back to his cabin, then he would be fine.

He needed Snape to finish that potion as soon as possible, and the longer he lived the sooner it would be completed. His relief absolutely did _not_ stem from the possible worry that Fenrir had gotten once Severus' life was possibly in danger. He felt absolutely no kinship to the man.

What. So. Ever.

" _Find him!"_ the Dark Lord roared, "bring him back before he can get to Hogwarts! I want his head on a platter!"

The Death Eater's scrambled to leave the room, Lucius and the Lestrange brothers in the lead.

If anyone was going to find Severus, it was going to be them just so they could help him get away.

The Dark Lord then turned to Fenrir, and with deceptive calmness, released the petrifying spell on his body.

Despite himself, Fenrir started growling. Being physically repressed like that had put him on his guard, and his natural instincts screamed at him to defend himself. The growl was simply a reaction and was unrealised til the Dark Lord's eyes flashed angrily.

Their eyes met, and Fenrir felt the Dark Lord pillage through his head as soon as red met grey. He flinched at his master's rough handling. The Dark Lord wasn't gentle by any means, and when he prodded, he prodded hard, just to make sure the facts were real and wouldn't give way under pressure.

Snape, when he had been teaching Fenrir occlumency, had described the mind like a building. Solid foundations made sure that the building didn't crumble. Bellatrix, for example, had a weak foundation, and had soon let her mind collapse. Snape also said that lies were like limestone, they were easily broken. Facts were like harder surfaces. Some people had weaker surfaces in general. Those people were the effortlessly swayed, and were very easily persuaded. Others, who were stronger in mind, had diamond like walls. Impenetrable and only ever able to be shaped, never shattered.

The Dark Lord was one of those people.

Fenrir felt him leave his mind, and with that, a few facts that the Dark Lord took for himself. He felt the remnants of the facts swimming in the forefront of his mind. He was relieved when he found that it was nothing that would put him in a compromising position, though he would have to move his pack since their location had been removed when Fenrir was concentrating on protecting his information about his betrayal.

"That is a pitiful excuse Fenrir," the Dark Lord hissed, gripping his wand tighter, his face contorted into what might have been a sneer if he had normal features. The lack of a proper nose didn't allow it to scrunch up, and so the look merely made him look pig-like.

The Dark Lord raised his wand, and Fenrir prepared himself for the bout of pain he would receive for letting his friend escape.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance   
Chapter 7

'Wounded Animal'  
.

She couldn't continue working down in the lab, her mind was too busy whirring with horrible outcomes for the men if they had a slip up and the Dark Lord found out about his little band of followers who were working against him. Hermione trudged upstairs, wondering if Greyback had also been summoned. He was a low level Death Eater, and so he didn't have the Dark Mark, but he seemed to be summoned more often than the other lower level followers. Something about him being intimidating for the prisoners that the Dark Lord brought in for questioning.

She waited for three hours, twenty-six minutes, and forty nine seconds before she heard the distinct crack of apparition sound off outside the cabin. Hermione sighed, and jumped up in relief upon hearing Snape return. They had work to complete, and his return to the cabin meant that everything was well. She opened the door, knowing that if it were an imposter they wouldn't see her anyways due to the Fidelius charm being in place. She stopped in her tracks.

It wasn't Snape that had apparated.

It was Greyback, and he was crouching on the ground, covered in blood. Hermione's jaw dropped in horror as he struggled to stand; only to wobble precariously and crouch down once more, sending a yowl of frustration into the air at the lack of cooperation from his legs.

Hermione shook herself out of her reverie and scrambled down the front steps, intent on helping the large werewolf with whatever ailed him, only to stop half way there when his head shot up and he snarled at her viciously. Hermione's eyes widened further as he crouched on the ground, panting a little from the exertion of his struggles to stand, his eyes trained on her, unblinking and unmoving from her form. He looked like an injured animal, cornered and ready to attack if threatened. It took a moment for Hermione to process that this was exactly what it was. She was nearly one-hundred percent certain that his survival instinct had kicked in by his injuries. His fight or flight instinct obviously leaned towards fight.

Hermione was rather grateful at that moment for her own animal instincts being as honed as they were, because she was sure that had she not been an Animagus and bitten by a werewolf in human form, then she probably would have done something more stupid than helpful, thus resulting in her disembowelment or Greyback's probable death.

She crouched in front of him, lessening her height and threat, and called in a soft, low voice, "Fenrir?"

He growled at her again in warning, though this time it wasn't his nails raking down a blackboard, watch-yourself-or-you-might-die snarl. Hermione smiled a close-mouthed smile at him, knowing that if she flashed her teeth he would probably take it as more of a threat than a reassurance.

She waited for a few minutes, watching as he watched her intently in return. She slowly stuck out her right hand, palm up in invitation, only to have him growl warningly at her again.

Hermione sighed, and grimaced when she realised that she only had one more choice. She would have to turn her back to him.

It was a sign of trust, and the most vulnerable position one could put themselves in when confronted with an animal. It also showed that she wasn't a threat.

Slowly, she rose to her knees, watching carefully as Greyback's teeth pulled back and he growled at her again at the movement. She took a deep, steadying breath, and steeled herself for what she was about to do.

She dropped her eyes from him and sat facing the front door, Greyback in no range of her sight. She listened intently for a warning of attack, or a shuffle of a cloak that would mean he was moving. Nothing.

Not a sound.

She sat there for...she didn't know how long. It was certainly long enough for her fingers to go numb, as she had left the house without her cloak, thinking that she would be able to merely drag the victim inside without them going into defence mode. Her bottom was also getting unpleasantly cold, and she was sure the ice on the ground was melting into her cotton-clad derriere.

Eventually though, she heard rustling, a curse, a thump, and then more rustling. The fact that it was getting closer made her tense. Either he would attack her or he would accept her. The thought of the former made her want to look around and see his face, but she knew that if she did that, then this move would become a waste of time and she would probably make him attack her anyways.

She tensed further when she felt his unmistakably hot breath on her neck. She arched her neck to the side, revealing his bite mark, and demonstrated her submissive behaviour.

Neither one moved for a few seconds.

Hermione smiled, and closed her eyes in relief when she felt him nuzzle softly on the tender skin of her neck. Had he decided to attack her, he would have clawed her throat out right then and there, but instead, he went for renewing his dominance over her.

She wasn't completely safe though. Had he felt comfortable he would have merely talked, reverting back to linguistic Greyback, the one that talked rather than growled incoherently. Unfortunately for her, he would probably feel mildly threatened for the rest of the day, and show more dominance over her just to make sure she wasn't a particularly sneaky threat. What fun.

She shivered from the cold, and he must have felt it because his large arm snaked around her waist and pulled her back to his firm chest, seated between his legs. Hermione felt him tremble too, though she figured it was more of an after effect from the Cruciatus curse than due to the cold. They sat there for a while, Hermione waiting patiently til he trusted her enough to help him, and he, simply making sure that he wouldn't be attacked again. He had bled enough for one night, thank you very much.

Eventually he pulled away, and murmured a low, "come."

Hermione sighed in relief, and set about helping him as fast as she could without startling him back into his defensive crouch. she slowly turned in his arms, making sure that she kept her head below his at all times, and didn't meet his gaze in case he saw it as a challenge. Eventually, after many annoyed growls from his side, and repressed sighs from Hermione, the pair stood, Greyback with his arm thrown over Hermione's shoulders for support, and Hermione practically dragging him back inside.

Once inside, she sat him down on the puffy, supportive armchair. Greyback practically collapsed into it, his face contorted into a pain-filled grimace. He hissed as he leaned back on the couch, and gripped the armrests so hard that his claws ripped little holes into the heavy covers.

Hermione knelt down in front of him. "What happened?"

Greyback breathed deeply through his nose and steadied her with a slightly weary gaze. Eventually he merely grunted, "Later."

Hermione could only nod, knowing that if she pushed him, his reaction would probably be worse than violent.

She helped him shrug out of his wet, blood soaked trench coat, throwing it to the floor with a grimace, before she turned back to inspect his wounds. His chest was covered in blood, not a single patch of tanned skin showing through the dense red liquid. She momentarily had a strange vision of the muggle comic book character, Hellboy, but quickly pushed it aside to try and find the source of the blood.

"S' not all mine."

Hermione's gaze flickered to his, and she nodded before continuing. She grasped her wand out of her pocket, intent on making the blood disappear as quickly as possible, but was quickly reminded that the drawing of one's wand could be seen as threatening.

And apparently that's exactly how Greyback saw it. His hand shot up quickly and encircled the wrist that was currently wielding her wand. He held on so tightly that Hermione felt the bones grind together and the sharp points of his clawed fingernails dig into her skin. She gasped, mostly in surprise at his sudden movement, and purely upon instinct, attempted to remove her arm from the hand that was causing her pain.

Her struggles made him growl, low and warningly at her, before he yanked her closer and bared his teeth at her, towering over her as she crouched between his legs.

She dropped her wand quickly, and averted her eyes from his, training them on the floor as a sign of submission.

She thanked whatever deity that existed for giving her the ability to read animals. She was sure that if she didn't have the ability, she probably would have been turned into dog meat a long time ago.

"Sorry," she mumbled, eyes still trained on the floor.

He grunted in response, and slowly retracted his grip from her arm.

"I'm going to get some towels and warm water," she announced, before standing slowly so as to not startle him and quickly set about getting whatever she would need to clean him up. She even went so far as to get him a tumbler of whiskey in a somewhat crude method of easing his pain.

He didn't gulp the whiskey like some men might have, but simply took a swig and set the half full tumbler down on the table next to her before he trained her with his gaze. Hermione could feel his eyes on her as she worked, and she became a little unsettled by the burning in her cheeks as a result. Her hands shook, though minutely, and she wiped the blood off his torso. Being the upstanding woman that she was, she made sure that she didn't touch any skin below his navel. And she refused to admit to herself that she gained a significant amount of dirty pleasure by running her hands all over his torso, even if it was blood soaked.

As each inch of his normal skin colour was revealed, Hermione realised that his cuts weren't all that bad. In fact, some looked days old, bloodied with fresh pink scars tainting the edges of each wound. Hermione frowned at the phenomenon and voiced her bafflement idly, not really expecting him to answer.

"We heal faster than humans," he answered gruffly, "one of the perks of being our kind."

Hermione noted the hint of pride as he said that, and refrained from smiling. She preferred to hear pride from him, rather than the self depreciation that she constantly heard of from Remus. It was somewhat enlightening, and definitely as she felt it should be.

She had read all the books, and knew that being a werewolf was not all about turning into a monster at the full moon. It affected the people for the rest of the days of the month as well, though more minutely. The animal instincts were there, though they were more easily repressed when human. Werewolves also have the perk of high metabolic rates, and thus are capable of rapid levels of healing. Unfortunately, this also equated to large appetites.

The rapid regeneration factor also meant that they didn't age like humans. That certain piece of information she hadn't, in fact, read in a book, and was instead informed by Remus when she had accidentally walked in on him in the bathroom one morning. Luckily for both their delicate sensibilities, he was simply drinking a potion. An aging potion to be exact. Remus looked a little out of his teens, was shorter than his 'older' form, and less broad. His hair had lustre to it, and shined gold even in the warped light of the bathroom. He still looked haggard though, and Hermione suspected it was due to his fighting his instincts all the time. The poor guy.

Greyback was still shivering.

"Did you go to the Dark Lord's meeting?" she asked slowly, hypothesising that his shakes were probably an after effect of the use of the Cruciatus curse.

He nodded.

"Were you hit with the Cruciatus curse?"

He nodded again, his lip curling into a snarl at the memory. No dog liked to be kicked, and he was a big dog with a long memory. Hermione was tempted to smirk. If the Dark Lord wasn't going to be killed before, he certainly was going to be now. Greyback really could hold a grudge.

She touched his arm comfortingly, sympathising as she had been hit with the Cruciatus more times than she liked to count.

"I've got a potion down in the cellar that could help with that," she announced, "I'll just go get it."

He nodded again, and stood, albeit strugglingly. Hermione urged him to sit back down, not wanting him to hurt himself further, but he merely growled at her when she placed her hands on his chest. Hermione had an inkling that he wouldn't let her out of his sight til he calmed down and realised she wasn't a threat.

The trip down to the basement was slow. However rapid his healing was, Greyback had sustained some pretty serious injuries, and they would take time to heal. Hermione had realised this by the multitude of new scars, obvious by their pink tinge, criss-crossing over his chest and arms. They would disappear, since his skin was pretty much unblemished apart from particularly violent scars that he had received from the past. Even with the scarring over his skin, she was sure there was large internal damage that had been inflicted on him. The worst part was that she could do nothing about it. Greyback wouldn't let her near him with a wand.

They made it down to the small lab. Greyback's eyes never once left Hermione as she rifled around for the small bright green potion that would help him stop shaking, and for his muscles to relax. He watched her like a hawk, his amber eyes watching for any sort of movement that deemed Hermione suspicious.

She eventually announced her find with a triumphant, "aha!"

She turned, smiled gently at the large, weary werewolf, and handed him the vial. His clawed hand hesitantly took the vial from her hands, his claws scraping along the glass. He popped the cork, and sniffed the concoction in suspicion, his nose scrunching in distaste before he downed the drink in one gulp. He grimaced and rumbled a growl at the bad taste.

His shakes stopped by the time they had made it back upstairs. Hermione watched as he practically collapsed into the large green armchair by the fire and picked up his whiskey again, taking a smaller sip than before. His eyes never left her form and Hermione watched how his shoulders drooped tiredly, his head tipped back on the chair. He was exhausted, and yet he would not let himself become vulnerable in sleep. She was still a threat. Hermione refrained from sighing in exasperation.

"Do you want something to eat?" she asked politely. If he wasn't going to sleep then she could at least get some carbohydrates and protein in him. It would at least perk him up and help speed up his healing process.

Greyback grunted an affirmative and followed her into the kitchen.

She was heating up a large chunk of meat, as well as some potatoes and vegetables for him when he started talking.

"Snape's been discovered."

Hermione's head whipped around to look at him. "What?"

"Mm," he hummed as he nodded, "Dark Lord checked up on him as he was leaving the basement with you. Saw the two of you together before you conveniently left the map. He figured out that he's been hiding you."

Hermione's jaw dropped open. Voldemort had used the tracking spell on Snape and her... and found out that he's a traitor because of it.

Shit.

"Where's Snape?" she asked worriedly, knowing that being a traitor meant that Snape would have been tortured and killed if he were a less capable man.

Hermione trusted the skills of the five men, and the fact that Greyback was covered in blood didn't exactly make sense.

"He's fine, lucky bastard," Greyback rumbled, his eyes half closed in lethargy, "lucky enough I was next to Rodolphus n' managed to start a fight with him that drew enough attention for Snape to get away."

Hermione gaped at him as he paused and flicked a fleck of dried blood off his navel. "That's why I was so torn up. Dark Lord doesn't like people getting away, n' I caused his greatest traitor to escape."

Hermione continued to gape at him. He _helped_ Snape get away? Hmm... Perhaps there was a greater amount of loyalty among the men than she had previously considered. Greyback was pretty torn up when he got here, the fact that he couldn't stand properly was testament to that. The fact that he sustained those levels of injuries to save his comrade showed that he was willing to submit himself to a great amount of pain to save someone he considered an ally.

Hermione was brought out of her thoughts as Greyback rumbled, "potatoes are burning, runt."

Hermione turned around again, and quickly tended to the food, her mind reeling.

What was going to happen now? Where was Snape? Was he going to remain at Hogwarts, or was he going to come here and continue helping her with the potion? Now that Voldemort knew their rough location, he was most definitely going to send Death Eater's to routinely scout the area, whether the reason was to bring her back and kill her, or to simply find out how Snape had hidden her. How was she going to get to the basement now? Or was she going to simply have to sprint to and from the front door twice a day?

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through her nose, as she served up Greyback's food. The meet was practically raw this time, only heated enough that it was warm. Hermione hoped that it was at least more to his liking than the last times she had cooked for him.

Thankfully he gobbled it down, and popped a few of the potatoes in his mouth before he pushed his plate away, eyeing the vegetables with badly concealed disgust. His eyes then returned to hers and he watched her like a hawk once again.

Hermione took his plate, and ate the remaining vegetables and the one potato left. She was washing the cutlery when she asked. "So where is Snape now?"

"Hogwarts," he replied shortly.

"What's going to happen to him now?"

"He'll hide at Hogwarts," he replied, "Dumbledore's got good protection there, and he can do some good for the kids that are sinking lower towards the Dark Lord. He'll come by and work on the potion with you still. I'll add him to my Floo so he won't be tracked here."

Hermione nodded, and sat down.

"How are you feeling now?" she asked worriedly.

"I'll be fine," was his short response.

"You should get some sleep," she advised.

Greyback's eyes narrowed as he looked at her, a low rumble, almost undetectable to Hermione's ears, released from low in his chest. "No."

Hermione exhaled heavily, refraining from rolling her eyes in exasperation. The man was going to exhaust himself if he kept watch over her like he was.

He did exhaust himself. He spent the rest of the day, and well into the night, hovering over Hermione. He would jump up if she moved too quickly, his stance threatening, and rumble a warning growl at her. Hermione would submit to him, knowing he was at his most dangerous when like this. Any wounded animal was dangerous, and if Fenrir wasn't an animal, then she didn't know what was.

She didn't cross him, she was smart after all.

Eventually, Hermione simply gave up, and went to bed just so Fenrir would too. She knew he would stay awake until he knew she was deep asleep, and even then he would probably ward her door from her coming to get him.

The last coherent thought before she fell asleep was how gratified she felt when he trusted her enough to let her live.

Not everyone was left alive, let alone without a scratch, when Fenrir Greyback was on the prowl.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance   
Chapter 8

'The Taste of Fire'  
.

Hermione was jubilant.

After nearly six months in the cabin, the research was finally starting to pay off. She had figured out a way to separate the neurotoxins from the basilisk venom, and by the looks of it, it would only take a few months to find out the correct substance to use to do it.

Ironically, it was her muggle background that led her to her miraculous discovery. Hermione had loved biology when her parents had home-schooled her during her summer months at home. Being who she is, Hermione researched extensively, and learnt as much as she could in the short months that she stayed home.

She hoped that muggle practices could be converted into magical processes as well. Every living organism had DNA, magical or non-magical. The plan was to use a process to separate the DNA that held the code for the basilisk neurotoxin and then replicate it.

The only problem was to find the right substance that actually cut the DNA at the right section. Muggles used restriction enzymes, but Hermione knew that this couldn't happen. Restriction enzymes denatured too easily if their environment didn't suit them. Basilisk venom was highly acidic. Hermione simply needed to find a substance that separated the DNA and then everything should go smoothly from there. She hoped so at least.

Ha! Suck that Severus Snape! After all his bitching about how little time they had, and Hermione had cut the research down by years simply due to knowing about DNA. This was fantastic.

Naturally, she couldn't help but gloat to him. He had scowled and snapped at her the whole way through, but Hermione wasn't swayed from her happiness. Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him, and he had asked (demanded) her to explain the procedure. Being half muggle ensured that he knew a little about muggle biology. He was aware of DNA, but literally had no clue as to what it did.

After nearly talking for three hours straight, Hermione eventually received the highest praise Severus Snape would ever give her.

"Good work," he murmured softly, sneering at her, though she could see it was rather half hearted. If anything he looked a little proud of her.

Hermione had beamed, and despite herself, had hugged him.

Naturally, Snape looked rather shocked, but didn't pry her off him, and instead settled for patting her on the head awkwardly.

Hermione walked up the stairs of the basement and went outside, the chilly air doing nothing to dissipate the large smile she had on her face. She walked the long way around the house to the front door. Greyback had told her there was a crack in the enchantments that couldn't be mended unless he fully stripped them from the house and started from scratch. This meant that Hermione was forced to walk the long way around the cabin, practically clinging to the walls to keep balanced.

Upon entering, the hot waft from inside the house hit Hermione, and she stopped in her tracks. This happened every time. The rapid change from cold to hot was somewhat debilitating, though not unwelcome.

She hurriedly made her way over to the fire, ignoring the piercing grey eyes that had been tracking her upon entering the cabin. She sat on the rug, shedding her jumper and let the waves of heat warm her skin.

"Had a good day then?" Greyback rumbled from behind her. She turned around, grinning like an idiot, and nodded enthusiastically.

She stood and made her way over to him, sitting beside him on the large couch and brought her legs up, tucking them underneath her.

"Yes," she answered, fighting the urge to jump up and down, and giggle like a little girl presented with a new toy, "we had a breakthrough with the potion. Looks like we cut down the research by a good couple of years."

Fenrir didn't give any outward praise or indication that he was happy, and merely shifted his eyes back to the fire, the yellow light dancing in his grey depths.

"Good."

Hermione wasn't perturbed, and merely let a smug smile take over her face. "Not to mention I showed Snape up good."

Greyback's eyes shifted back to hers, inquisitive now. "How'd you do that?"

Hermione's triumphant smile widened. "I proved to him that basilisk venom would work when he said that we didn't have enough time to figure out how to isolate the neurotoxins. He even had the decency to congratulate me."

Hermione couldn't help but stare into the fire with a goofy grin. After years of trying to get the man to acknowledge her intellect, and Snape had finally given in. She was pretty sure, in all his years as a teacher, Snape had never once told a student, 'good job,' let alone gave any sort of praise above acceptable. Especially to a Gryffindor.

She was brought out of her thoughts when she heard a low, rumbling chuckle.

Her eyes flickered to Greyback only to see him watching her with an amused expression on his face.

Hermione looked at him questioningly, and he answered, "you look thoroughly pleased with yourself, runt."

Hermione smiled at him, "that's because I _am_ thoroughly pleased with myself."

She stood up, and moved to go past him to get herself a cup of tea, but found herself pulled down onto a warm lap. She squeaked in surprise, her eyes going wide, and she stared into the stormy depths of Fenrir's eyes. She swallowed thickly.

"W-what are you doing?" she stammered, jumping a little when he placed his arms around her waist and pulled her close enough so that he could reach her neck.

He smirked at her, and leaned forwards so that he could nuzzle the mark on her neck. Hermione's head instantly tilted to the side, exposing the soft arch of her neck to him, before she closed her eyes, biting her lip in order to stifle a soft purr.

He nipped at the mark, somewhat affectionately, and tightened his grip on her.

Suddenly his arms stiffened around her, and his nose skimmed along her neck, down to her collar bone, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed at her. Hermione could hear as he took long drags of air through his nose, apparently identifying something strange on her skin.

He pulled back, a deadly glare on his face, and growled low in his chest.

"Why do I smell Snape on you?"

Hermione stared at him for a few seconds in bafflement before she answered slowly, "I don't understand. Wouldn't Snape's scent be on me anyways since I've been working with him for the past four hours?"

Fenrir growled again, this time baring his pointed teeth at her as his eyes flashed angrily, "do not question me, runt."

Hermione was about to open her mouth to, no doubt, argue, but Fenrir beat her, "his scent is strong on you. So strong in fact, that it's unquestionable as to whether he's touched you or not. Why has he touched you?"

Hermione blinked at him, racking her brains for when Snape had touched her. She shook her head when nothing came up. "He didn't touch me at all, Fenrir."

Fenrir growled again, his arms tightening around her so that her chest was touching his. He leant forward and nuzzled her skin, rubbing his face along her neck and clavicle, no doubt drowning out the scent of Snape with his own.

"Don't lie to me," he growled, his voice muffled as he nipped at her skin warningly, a rather unpleasant sting jolting her, "scents don't lie. And your scent screams intimacy with Snape."

He then looked up at her and sent her a feral glare.

"I don't like it," he rumbled, "not. One. Bit."

Hermione gaped at him again. He was acting like...

Well... like he had a pinch of the green-eyed monster. The scent of another, as far as she knew, unmated male on her, made him jealous, and he felt the need to drape his scent all over her to claim his territory once again.

To be honest, the revelation kind of made her excited.

Her mother had told her that having a possessive man would only lead to trouble, and cause more fights than it was worth. Apparently a relationship was only successful if both partners were on equal footing, and trusted each other. Hermione could see the logic in her mother's words...

But Fenrir's actions made her stomach clench in some unknown feeling, one that she rather enjoyed. It excited her, and she was sure that had another man come along, they would never have dared challenge her bossy nature. They would have let her walk all over them, in fact. That was one of the reasons why she liked Ron. Well... _had_ liked Ron. Now, loath as she was to admit it, her attentions were drawn elsewhere...

Perhaps... jealousy wasn't such a bad thing after all.

She was brought out of her pondering when he nipped her neck again, hard enough to send a jolt of pain down to Hermione's fingertips.

"Don't let him touch you," he growled against her neck. "Ever again."

Hermione resisted the urge to huff in exasperation. How many times would she have to tell him this before it got through his head?

"He didn't tou-"

Oh...

Hermione's eyes widened.

She had hugged Snape when he had praised her.

Hermione looked down at Fenrir, biting her lip nervously. "I... I hugged him. He didn't touch me. I was... the one... who..." she trailed off uncertainly, not wanting to admit her actions for some reason.

Fenrir's reaction had somehow made her think that she had betrayed him, not that she had any relationship with him to start with for it to even count as a betrayal. And, even if they did start a relationship, it couldn't really be counted as a relationship because it would be anything but conventional, and it most certainly would be regarded as sick...

Greyback pulled away from her neck sharply, making her cringe slightly underneath his harsh gaze.

"What?" he barked.

"I... hugged him," she mumbled, dropping her eyes from him to stare at her fidgeting hands.

He growled again, the rumble in his chest vibrating against Hermione's shoulder. She shivered unintentionally.

"Never again," he rumbled, reminding her that she belonged to him. "The only man you get to touch is me."

Hermione looked up at him, startled.

Despite herself, she felt the odd urge to laugh.

A smile tugged at her lips as she asked, "so you'd let me hug you if the urge ever came over me?"

Fenrir let a wolfish grin overtake his features. "That, and more, runt."

-0-0-0-0-

Not much happened over the next month or so. Fenrir left three days after he told her not to touch any other man ever again. Hermione seriously doubted her ability to do this, not that she had any designs on other men, but she had a lot of male friends, and she would be hard pressed not to hug them when she met up with them again.

The six of them held two or three meetings in the time, though Hermione saw them more as social gatherings. The men discussed what was happening on their end, but they usually came to a conclusion about whatever dilemma they were facing within seconds of voicing it in the first place.

The rest of the meetings were spent drinking whiskey or port and smoking expensive cigars. Fenrir would come back in these times and stay in the shadows, allowing the other men to speak. He never reported on anything, having nothing of importance to say.

Hermione quickly learnt his role in the group. He provided the numbers, along with the black market items whenever they needed them. He was like a classier, much more likeable version of Mundungus Fletcher.

Well... much more likeable to Hermione at least.

He came back in early October, nearly three weeks after he had warned her off Snape and other men. He was covered in blood again, though he walked in looking much more subdued than the previous two times he had entered into Hermione's presence in such a way. Hermione had stared at him silently in shock, feebly wondering if he would ever come into the house _not_ caked in blood, whether it be his own or someone else's.

"What happened?" she asked, coming around the couch to kneel in front of him.

Had this been a hunting trip, he would have looked happy... refreshed even.

This was clearly a punishment from Voldemort.

"Nothing to worry your pretty head about, runt," he rumbled, staring into the fire with such intensity that Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if the flames flared and strengthened.

Hermione frowned at him. "Yes it is."

Greyback's eyes snapped to look at her, and he growled, "I am not in the mood tonight, girl."

Hermione scoffed, frustrated, "I don't care whether or not you're in the mood tonight."

Greyback growled at her again, but Hermione ignored the sound, refusing to back down.

"I'm a part of this group," Hermione said. "What good am I if you won't tell me what happens within the Death Eater ranks?"

Greyback looked like he was about to say something but Hermione cut him off.

"And I know this happened within the Death Eater ranks because you're never this melancholy when you come back from a hunting trip so don't try to play a fast one on me."

Greyback growled at her, his grey eyes flashing as he bared his pointed teeth at her in warning.

"Don't presume to know so much, runt."

"And that's another thing," Hermione ranted, forgetting why she was fighting with him in the first place as she let off a bit of steam, "why do you call me runt all the time? I'm 5'4, ergo not short enough to be classified as a runt, and I'm hardly skinny! Why do you n-"

She was promptly cut off by Greyback's deadly snarl. Her eyes widened when she realised that she had quite forgotten that she was telling off the most deadly werewolf in modern history.

The only word that ran through her head as she watched him advance on her was, ' _bollocks.'_

She shrank away from him, but he snatched her wrist and forced her down on the couch, bearing down on her with a feral snarl on his lips. He raised one knee onto the plush fabric beside her right thigh, and braced his arms on the back of the couch, effectively boxing her in as his teeth clamped down on her neck, biting through the flesh as if he were chewing on jelly.

Hermione hissed, and despite her acumen, struggled to get away from the pain. Her resistance only resulted in him clamping down on her neck harder, pinning her with his teeth, and bringing his other knee up onto the couch so that his weight would keep her down.

He moaned as he swallowed down his first mouthful of blood, and wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist. Before she knew what happened, Hermione was the one straddling him as he sat back on the couch and gulped down greedy mouthfuls of her blood.

She clutched at his shoulders and relaxed into his tight, possessive grip.

His arms slowly unravelled from their hold around her waist and instead, he clutched her sides with his large hands, his clawed fingernails catching in the fabric of her shirt. He gurgled a frustrated growl and quested his hands underneath the fabric of her shirt, running his hands along the creamy skin of her back til they rested on her waist. His hands flexed, and his fingernails dug into her flesh, sending jolts to her core.

Hermione moaned.

She arched into him when his hands moved down to her hips, and he thrust his own hips up to grind against her.

Hermione felt a gush of heat settle between her legs, and clamped her thighs around his own, wrapping her arms around his neck as she rocked against him wantonly, biting her lip to stop herself from mewling any further.

Slowly, he pulled back, and Hermione had to suppress a groan at the loss of contact. He watched the small trail of blood that had started winding down her shoulder, pooling in her shallow clavicle before trickling down her breastbone. He leaned forward, his warm, wet tongue dragging along her skin to lick her clean, lapping at the small pool in her clavicle like a thirsty dog, before licking at her wound as the blood finally clotted.

He nuzzled her neck, somewhat tenderly, before he rumbled a satisfied growl in her ear, making her shiver.

"You're not as sweet as everyone says you are, little Hermione," he rumbled.

He then looked her straight in the eye, his grey orbs lit up, reflecting the warm heat of the fire in front of him.

"You taste of fire."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance   
Chapter 9

'Animagus'  
.

Hermione's wet black nose twitched as she caught the enticing scent of a Red Deer, her breath creating a white fog as she exhaled. Her white-tipped ears twitched in the direction of snow being crunched under cloved hooves, and she flattened herself on the ground, hiding within the low underbrush of the forest.

Her furred belly dragged along the ground silently, stalking ever so slowly towards her prey, loose snow sticking to the long red-honeyed fur of her belly. Her black paws contrasted greatly against the white ground, and her red fur provided next-to-no camouflage against the snow. Once she was hiding in the underbrush it was easier to remain out of sight, but with that, the issue of being heard was heightened. She had to be extremely careful in case she accidentally brushed up against a low bush, causing an unnatural rustle that would make her prey aware of her close vicinity.

The only white parts of Hermione's body were the rims and inside of her ears, a small bib on her chest, and her short tail. The rest of her body was covered with long, unnaturally fuzzy red fur. Black colouring splattered along her spine, and dark stockings ran along all four of her legs. On the inside of her left foreleg was a patch of white, the scarring of her Dark Mark replacing the black fur that had been there previously.

She might have looked like a fox had she not been standing at just under a meter tall.

Stalking her prey low on the ground was hard due to her monumentally long legs, but she managed. Her shoulders and haunches would ache after, but the thrill of a hunt was too good to miss. Unfortunately, having such long legs did make her look rather clumsy when walking... crawling even more so. Running, on the other hand, was great fun. Her long, loping strides made her look graceful, and allowed her to cover quite a bit of ground with a minimal amount of work.

The feature that probably best identified her as Hermione Granger was the way her fur grew within her mane: the longer tufts of hair were more brittle than the rest of her fur, which was fuzzy and soft to the touch, but the most distinctive feature of her fur was the frizzy mane. The hair had small kinks in it, making it seem almost curly.

After her first transformation, Hermione was thrilled. She had spent nearly three days simply enjoying the wild feeling of being in her animal form. No one knew that she was an Animagus, not even McGonagall, the very woman that had driven her towards the great feat.

After the initial delight from finding her Animagus form wore off, Hermione found herself in a bit of a dilemma.

She had no idea what she was.

Had she not had extremely long legs and stood up to 98cm tall, she probably would have called herself a fox.

She soon found out that one of the names her form was called had, in fact, at least had the word 'fox' in it.

Some Muggles referred to it as a stilt-legged fox.

Maned wolf was another term, along with other names such as Aguará Guazú _,_ Lobo Guará, Lobo De Crin, and Borochi that also came up when Hermione researched her animal form.

Hermione settled behind a flimsy bush that provided enough cover for her to be undetected, but allowed her keen, black eyes to pierce through the leaves and sight her prey.

It was a timid little hind, her petite, dainty legs sinking in the deep snow of the clearing she had bravely ventured into, her little tuft of a white tail swinging back and forth.

Hermione didn't hunt to kill; it was more of a challenging task she put herself up to. She measured her performance each time, testing her strength, stamina, and ability to remain undetected. She would never lay a hand... well, a paw, on a single animal she hunted, let alone bite into one. Killing wasn't even contemplated.

There were times when she would be tempted to go for a good chase, probably scaring whichever animal she was pursuing into palpitations, but she never gave into the instinct. She laid herself laws, and one of them was to walk away when her hunt had detected she was there.

Her attention was drawn away by a pop that sounded in the distance. Hermione's white-tipped ears quirked in the direction of the sound, which was soon followed by her head as she scanned the area curiously.

Another pop followed, and Hermione frowned as best she could in her canid form. By the sounds of it, Muggles were hunting in Bunloinn forest. Her attention was brought back to the hind when she heard the rapid crunch of snow being moved.

The little deer had fled.

Hermione sighed internally, not knowing if she had caused the hind to flee or if it was the strange sounds from far off in the forest.

She stood, ignoring the conspicuous sound that followed as her shoulders brushed the branches, and stepped out into the clearing. She ran her nose along the ground, scenting the little dear that that escaped her. She gave herself a second chance upon hearing the pops. From her observations, the hind was a rather nervous one, and would flee at any strange sound. This was one of the reasons why Hermione had chosen her to track specifically. This little dear would be particularly hard to track, mainly because the hind would run at the most subtle hints of indiscretion.

She was a challenge.

Hermione finally caught the scent of the hind, and moved to follow her when a louder pop caused her to sit back on her haunches in surprise, her ears falling flat on her head and her mane rising threateningly. A small growl escaped her lips before she quickly moved into the bushes.

Hermione had learned that maned wolves were actually quite timid creatures, especially around humans. They would much sooner run than cause an unnecessary fight. Yes, they would defend themselves if necessary, but they wouldn't go looking for violence.

Hermione pondered this fact for a while after she first learned about her Animagus form. She had learned, when McGonagall had taught them about Animagi, that the animal their form took closely resembled their personalities.

She found this was rather true.

Hermione spotted a cluster of bushes nearby that provided good covering so that she could watch whatever intruders might come past her without being noticed.

Another pop, loud and cracking like a gunshot, sounded through the clearing. Hermione whined softly at the sound. Her ears were much more precise when in her animal form, and the loud bang made them throb uncomfortably.

Another pop followed, and Hermione whined again, pressing herself lower to the ground so that she would not be seen.

"There's no one here, Mulciber," said a horribly familiar voice. "Are you sure you did the spell correctly?"

"Of course I did!" hissed Mulciber, "the spell said she'd be here."

"Well she's not," Macnair replied icily, "here, let me do it."

Hermione watched, dread settling in her stomach as the two men watched the wand spin in Macnair's hand, only to slow and point directly towards where Hermione was hiding.

She dared not move, knowing that the two men would fire off curses blindly at even the most innocent rustle of a bush, let alone if she jumped out and made a dash for it.

Hermione's attention was brought away from the bickering men when she heard hurried footsteps coming towards the clearing. Her head turned to peer out of the bushes, her ears tweaking at the long, loping strides of the person that was approaching. The person was heavy, if judging by the way the ground jarred underneath them was anything to go by.

She was upwind, so she couldn't smell who it was that was getting closer.

The two Death Eater's obviously couldn't hear the approaching possible threat. They were still bickering between each other, pointing towards Hermione's direction and insulting each other's intelligence.

Hermione waited silently, watching the two men bickering while she listened for the approaching person.

Her lips pulled back inadvertently to bare her teeth in warning when Macnair simply threw his hands in the air, aggravated, and started marching in the direction that the wand was pointing... towards her.

"Well, well, well," the voice of Fenrir Greyback cut through the clearing. "Look what the cat dragged in."

Both Macnair and Mulciber turned around, surprised, their wands brandished wildly as they sent a series of curses at Fenrir before they could even identify who he was.

The large werewolf merely sidestepped them, his movements almost lazy. He crossed his arms over his chest relaxedly before he turned his head to watch the sparks bounce off the trees as they died down. When he turned back around, his eyebrows were raised, and he looked at the two Death Eater's before him with an expectant gaze.

They cowered at him, fear radiating off them in waves. Hermione could smell it.

"What are you doing here, Greyback?" Macnair asked, his voice faltering slightly as Fenrir's piercing orbs of grey darted to him.

"Me?" Greyback asked imperiously, "I hunt here."

"I didn't know you hunted animals, Greyback," sniggered Mulciber, who Hermione thought was obviously the stupider one of the pair for that comment.

Greyback smirked at him and answered with a dangerous undertone in his soft growl, "Only when there aren't any other humans around. Unless you'd rather indulge me, I'd suggest you keep quiet Mulciber."

Both Death Eater's blanched noticeably. No one joked around when Fenrir Greyback was threatening them.

"So, what are you two doing in the forest then?" Fenrir asked, tucking his clawed hands in the hip pockets of his loose, black polyester track pants. "Not looking for me, I assume?"

"No," agreed Macnair, "the Dark Lord sent us on a mission to find Hermione Granger and bring her back for interrogation."

Greyback feigned shock before he murmured condescendingly, "not you, surely? Is the Dark Lord running out of competent followers or did you do something remotely useful for once to prove to him that you could actually find that little slip of a girl?"

Both Death Eater's faces went from white as a sheet to beetroot red in a matter of seconds.

"As if you are any better," spat Mulciber, "letting Snape get away. I must admit, I'm impressed. I don't think I've seen anyone screw up that badly before. Tell me, Fenrir... did the Dark Lord swat your nose with a newspaper as punishment?"

Greyback started growling softly, much too softly for the two Death Eater's to hear, but he visibly changed. Long gone was his relaxed posture, and instead it was replaced with a straight back, hands out and curled into claws, lips pulled back to show sharp teeth.

He really was huge when he brought himself up to his full height.

Slowly, the large werewolf relaxed again as the two Death Eater's smirked triumphantly.

Fenrir took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a second before they snapped open again.

"I hear you have a young niece," Greyback growled, a feral smirk overtaking his rugged features. "Perhaps you should introduce us."

Greyback's grin widened as Mulciber visibly shrank, before he continued, "you know how I love the young ones, so impressionable and innocent. I have a feeling that I would very much like to meet her. If I'm not mistaken, her name is Lucy."

"Let's not get hasty there Fenrir," said Mulciber, raising his hands to placate the werewolf.

"Mm," hummed Greyback, smirking victoriously before he resumed his relaxed posture and leaned his left shoulder against a scratchy tree trunk.

Hermione watched as Macnair placed a hand on Mulciber's shoulder and murmured, "Let's go. Granger's not here. We should go check how the spell is performed again."

And with that, the two Death Eater's apparated away with a loud pop.

Fenrir audibly sighed, and Hermione watched his shoulders droop in relief.

"Come on out, runt," he called to her. When Hermione didn't move he called her again. "Come on, I haven't got all day."

Hermione shuffled in the bushes, not wanting him to see her in Animagus form. She had kept it a secret for this long, so she wasn't about to just jump out in front of him, was she? She studied the bush she was hiding in, but it was much too small for her to revert back into her human form without him noticing her change. Damn.

She supposed she could just stay put until he gave up and left.

She was brought out of her thoughts when he called to her again, "if you don't come out, I'll come in there to get you."

Hermione sniffed, her ears flattening against her head. He wouldn't dare. He didn't even know where she was...

Apparently he did know. Hermione heard the snow crunching under his boots and before she knew it, he had parted the bushes around her and was looking down at her in surprise.

"I knew your scent had changed but..." he murmured, his grey eyes wide, "I wasn't expecting this, runt."

The Borochi looked up at him, her ears flattened in what looked like canid annoyance. She keened at him before she uncurled herself and crawled out from under the bush.

Fenrir looked so much bigger when she was in her Animagus form. He towered over her, looking very much like an attractive giant. Her animal instincts in her Animagus form were heightened.

His intimidating position made her keep her body low to the ground, her belly fur rubbing against the snow. Her tail sat firmly between her legs, and she kept her eyes trained on anything apart from Fenrir.

Her white-tipped ears twitched when she heard his deep rumbling chuckle. "I think I like you better as an animal, runt. Much more submissive, and with better manners."

Hermione's gaze snapped up to his and she raised the stiff fur of her mane so that she was puffed out more. She issued a low, disgruntled growl at him to which he merely quirked his eyebrows at and stood right in front of her, towering over her with his teeth bared.

Hermione's gaze dropped again, sinking fully into the snow with her ears tipped back.

He chuckled again. "Good girl."

Despite herself, Hermione felt a pang of happiness at the praise. Her ears tipped upwards again, and she chanced a few glances to look up at Fenrir.

He crouched down in front of her and smiled. Hermione's bravery returned upon his less intimidating position, and she slowly pushed herself up again. He reached out with a clawed hand and slowly stroked the white bib of fur covering Hermione's chest.

"You're a pretty little wolf aren't you, runt," he murmured, sounding rather sincere.

Hermione keened to him in response, batting his knee with her black paw. He smiled at her and set about familiarising himself with her Animagus form. He made her stand and turn around. He ran his hands along her back and picked up her paws, tickling the fine hairs between the pads until she pulled them away with a disgruntled yap. He merely chuckled at her annoyance. He even went so far as to playfully tugging her tail.

By the end of it, Hermione was glad to see the rather impressed look upon his face. She batted her head against his hand so that he would scratch behind her ears in a way he had discovered that she liked.

"Good thing you're a wolf, runt," he murmured down to her, "wouldn't have you any other way."

Hermione would be lying if she denied feeling proud that he liked her form.

"Come on, then," he sighed, standing up once more, "we've got to get back to the cabin. The others are waiting for us."

Hermione keened to him once more, and strode out in front of him in long, loping strides. She shook herself to rid her body of any loose snow right before she transformed back into her human form.

Fenrir looked at her dishevelled form appreciatively before he stalked up to her and wrapped his large arms around her waist. He leaned down and nuzzled her neck, a satisfied rumble forming low in his chest when Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled herself closer.

Hermione nuzzled his chest in response, behaving like a puppy looking for warmth.

"Thank you, Fenrir," she murmured into his chest, her voice slightly muffled by the hard muscles she had buried herself into.

She knew that he wouldn't have turned her over to the Death Eater's, but still, the fact that the opportunity had been offered to him, and he had refused, solidified her trust in him.

Fenrir merely grunted to her in response and took hold of her hand in a firm grip. He yanked her along, refusing to let go of her small hand as he practically dragged her along to the cabin. Hermione huffed in annoyance, restraining from pointing out to him that she could, in fact, walk without him helping.

However, she found the reassuring warmth of his hand spreading all over her body, making her blush when the heat hit certain areas.

She tutted to herself quietly. Now was not the time to start having dirty thoughts about the imposing werewolf in front of her.

Hermione looked at the bunched muscles on his shoulders as he dragged her behind him, pleading with her conscience to just let her slip one time and let her hands wonder over his body. She moaned mentally, wondering how god could be so cruel for making her stop herself from just jumping on him.

She sighed dejectedly and dropped her eyes to the ground when she saw him turn around and look at her questioningly.

The rest of the way home was filled with silence, apart from the snow crunching under their boots and the odd call of a bird.

When they entered the cabin Hermione was promptly told off by none other than Severus Snape. He ranted to her about being an utter idiot, and not living up to her notorious reputation of being a know-it-all. Hermione didn't try to defend herself. She knew she had been stupid, leaving the cabin like she did. But, the boredom that threatened to swallow her whole had gotten the better of her, and she had simply escaped to hunt and clear her head.

At the time, she hadn't even considered Death Eater's coming after her like they had. Briefly, she thanked god for being an Animagus, and having a powerful ally in Fenrir Greyback. She probably wouldn't have escaped had she not.

When Snape finished, he took a deep breath and visibly drooped, as if ranting at her for so long had literally deflated him.

Hermione looked up to Greyback, who was standing behind her when he let out a quiet, annoyed rumble. His hands were resting on the back of the large armchair that Hermione was nervously perched on, and his gaze was trained solely on Snape with his lips pulled back slightly to reveal the sharp points of his canines. Hermione looked over at the other men, and realised that the sound must have either been too quiet or too common of an occurrence to warrant their attention.

She briefly wondered why Fenrir was being so quietly hostile towards Snape before her over-analytical brain caught up with her.

He was standing over her, like an overprotective dog, and was growling at Snape as the black haired man verbally attacked her.

Fenrir was guarding her.

Hermione felt the corners of her mouth twitching upwards as she fought to keep a straight face, but she failed dismally. Instead, she dropped her head, and allowed her wild mane of hair to block the others view of her happy face.

She heard a shuffle from the other side of the room, and lifted her head. Snape was staring straight at Greyback, his face slowly contorting into one Hermione could only think of as complete and utter abhorrence, before he strode from the room, giving his farewells as he left.

Hermione frowned, baffled, and tilted her head back to question Fenrir, but stopped when she noticed him staring at her.

He seemed to do that a lot. Simply watch her, like a dangerous predator watching its prey shuffle around before it struck and ended the sought after life.

Slowly his clawed hand rose, and threaded through her hair.

Hermione watched as Fenrir's face took on a look of avid fascination, and surprisingly, one of boyish glee. Hermione refrained from giggling as he grinned down at her, his fingers stroking through her messy tangles of hair as if it were the most amazing substance in the world.

Hermione felt her heart melt, just a little bit, as she realised that he was probably the only person in the world that actually liked her hair.

Others would call it bushy, uncontrollable. Disgusting.

Truth be told, Hermione hadn't really had a problem with it til she started going to school, til others started pointing out that her hair was socially unacceptable. Modern social conventions, particularly those that women seemed to face, simply baffled her to no end. She couldn't wrap her head around other people's inane need to look like supermodels. Surely they understood that being that 'beautiful' was unhealthy? Why would people want to look like the people in magazines? Why would they want to look like clones?

There were days when Hermione wanted to pamper herself. In order to do that, she simply put a dress on. She didn't need makeup, she steadfastly refused to touch her hair, simply because people found it distasteful and she wanted to rile them, and she couldn't even stand the sight of high heels.

To be honest, Hermione found that what other people found beautiful, to be rather distasteful. The same happened with what she found beautiful. She remembered some of the girls in her dormitory gossiping about Victor Krum during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Obviously, the only thing they found attractive about him was his status and money.

Hermione had thought him rather handsome.

Unfortunately for Krum, Hermione found the werewolf currently playing with her hair like it was a brand new toy to be much more attractive.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance   
Chapter 10

'Greetings, David Mosby'  
.

"Good," praised Fenrir as he ducked a controlled swing from a gangly adolescent, "good."

The pup, a recently bitten one, grinned a pointy-toothed grin at his alpha. Fenrir, noticing the lapse in the young one's concentration, kicked the young boy's legs from underneath him and placed his bare foot on the pup's chest.

"Never let your guard down," Fenrir advised, his eyes hard.

The pup nodded and struggled to get up again, but Fenrir didn't move his foot. He smirked when the boy growled and attempted to push his foot off his chest.

Fenrir was about to lecture him again on another technique when he heard pounding feet and the war cries of a pack of young pups barrelling towards him. He turned, mildly surprised.

"An ambush!" he growled dramatically. He crouched on the ground, grinning as the young pups circled him with sharp eyes, their happy faces grinning back at him.

"Come on, then," he prompted them. "Show me what you pups can do."

They all pounced at once, growling and snarling at him in their high pitched childish voices, attempting to bring him down with teamwork. Fenrir grinned proudly. Teamwork was imperative for a pack to succeed.

"Communicate with each other," he barked, "Tell the others where you are and what they can do to bring me down. Don't worry about your prey hearing. Chances are that the combined adrenaline and panic will stop them from running away whether they know what you're going to do next or not."

The boys complied, yelling orders to each other as they attempted to get him on the floor.

Fenrir growled when they managed to get him on one knee. He had to admit, he was impressed. These kids were ruthless, and what made it worse was that they were competitive. Each one used all their strength, hoping that their extra weight would be the tipping point for him to finally be floored.

He was particularly impressed with the brave little five-year-old that was clinging to his neck, screaming bloody murder in his ear. Fenrir was sure that, regardless of whether or not they did put him on his back, his ears would still ring due to that pup's shrill screams.

He flinched as an older boy bit into his calf.

Fenrir must have shifted his weight to the knee on the ground, because the next thing he knew, the kids had shoved him, causing him to fall to the side and steady himself with an arm on the dirt. One of the bigger pups came at him from his front and flung his full weight into Fenrir's arm.

Fenrir grunted as he landed in the dirt and the group of pups all piled on top of him, howling their victory.

He roared with laughter and praised them for their good work. The pups didn't let him up as he gave each and every one of them tips on how to improve their performance.

"Alright, time to get back," he finally announced, as the pups all settled on him.

The youngsters all complained, asking him if they could just have one more spar, but he stood firm.

"It's nearly lunch time. I will spar again with you tomorrow."

They all groaned, but soon enough got off of him and ran down the dirt road that ran along the small river flowing across from their little village.

One particularly cute little girl stayed. She looked up at him with large, almond shaped eyes and raised her hands towards him, whimpering to be carried.

Fenrir sighed, and picked her up with a pointy-toothed smile, before he swung her up so that she was sitting on his shoulders. The girl, Leona he remembered her name to be, giggled, placed her dirty little hands on his temples, and leaned her chin atop his head.

Anyone that wasn't a werewolf, never knew how good he was to the children of his own kind. He did like children, just not human ones. Normal wizarding children were cruel, and judged the pups of his kind without preamble.

He jogged to catch up with the large group of pups that had managed to floor him, just so he could make sure that they got back to the village safely and didn't get into any mischief.

He pondered the month's events as he strolled down the serene walkway, the musical lull of the river relaxing his muscles and washing away his troubles.

Little Hermione Granger was digging herself further and further under his skin. Despite realising that he had a weakness in her now, he couldn't bring himself to regret it. The runt was his, and he wasn't about to let her get away. Whether she liked it or not, when the war ended, he was going to turn her and she would come and live in the village. She would be his mate.

Her being an Animagus was a surprise. A good one, but it was shocking nonetheless. She was lucky her scent was similar in her animal form; otherwise, tracking her the other day would have proved problematic. Fenrir was sure that had he not interfered sooner, she probably would have been captured. Mulciber and Macnair were both morons, but they weren't stupid enough to not realise that she was probably an Animagus if the tracking spell pointed towards her.

Hermione was a wolf, something that amused him to no end. He shuddered at the thought of her possibly turning into something like a cat. His face scrunched up into a revolted grimace. Had she turned into a cat he probably would have been turned off her altogether.

Luckily, she wasn't anything feline. The fact that she was a wolf made him hotter for her. The urge to mount her grew daily, but he knew she wouldn't come to him willingly yet. Fenrir didn't like the thought of rape. He might be a killer, but the thought of a frightened, struggling woman beneath him didn't get him hard. It was much more satisfying to have a woman begging _for_ him to take her, instead of begging for him to get _away_.

He smiled wolfishly at the thought of taking the little wild-haired woman living in his cabin. The image of her writhing underneath him, screaming out his name, her beautiful hair creating a wild halo around her head was enough to make his pants a little tight.

He shook his head like a wet dog as he realised he was currently out in the open, with a little girl sitting on his shoulders. Now was _not_ a good time to get a hard on.

Instead, he trained his thoughts away to Snape's reaction the night before.

Snape had heard him growling and had looked up at Fenrir, instantly using Legilimency to discover why Fenrir was protective of the girl. Unfortunately, Fenrir wasn't prepared for the mental onslaught, and hadn't blocked the images of his fantasies of the young girl from his mind.

Fenrir smirked at the memory of Snape's face when he saw Fenrir's detailed dreams about the little witch writhing underneath him. The black haired man had looked revolted, and had made a hasty exit, looking much paler than he already did.

Fenrir had initially been angry at the unwelcome invasion in his mind, but seeing Snape's reaction to his thoughts on the young bushy-haired woman had been enough to satisfy his vengeful streak.

Fenrir was sure Snape would never enter his mind without permission again.

It wasn't surprising to see the alpha walk back into the village with a group of children playing around him. It happened often when he returned to the little town. In his free time he would often spend it with the children, teaching them what he knew.

He had his duties, just like any of the other wolves. Usually he would help with the manual labour, cutting trees for fire wood, hunting for food, carrying water from the river, anything he could do to help really. The wolves respected him for this. He wasn't just another leader that sat on his arse and let those underneath him do all the work while he barked out orders.

He was good to them, and always made sure they were safe. Some might say he was actually overcautious. He moved them frequently, and often put himself on sentry duty. They knew he doubted the others ability to spot danger. They also knew that he got niggly when he didn't know what was going on in the forest. He hated being caught off guard, and strangers walking around in his territory without him knowing it made his skin crawl.

Upon entering the village Fenrir was met with Leona's smiling mother.

"Alpha," the woman greeted, dipping her head respectfully in greeting.

Fenrir smiled at her. "Esther."

He handed Leona back to her mother, the little girl clasping her hands around her mother's neck, watching Fenrir with happy eyes.

Fenrir smiled at the little girl, and placed his palm on the top of her head warmly.

He turned to Esther, "she's a cute one, your little Leona."

Esther beamed and thanked him reverently, before turning and walking towards her home.

Fenrir stood and watched the lively village as the people bustled around, going about the last of their duties before they headed home for lunch. Those that passed him greeted him respectfully, smiling at him sincerely. He nodded to them, giving them a smile that he only bestowed to his own kind. Normal wizards never saw him smile, and for a good reason. They didn't deserve it, nor would they ever be privy to it.

"Alpha," murmured a familiar voice behind him.

Fenrir turned, unsurprised to see his beta standing behind him with a sombre look on his face.

"Fidus," Fenrir greeted, "I take it they've finally shown themselves."

His beta nodded.

Fenrir sighed. "It's taken them long enough."

"Perhaps they're just cautious," Fidus murmured, shrugging.

" _I_ am cautious," Fenrir growled, "they have been observing us for far too long to just be cautious. They're up to something."

Fidus nodded, knowing not to challenge his alpha in case the larger werewolf took it as offense. "They are waiting near the town centre."

Fenrir growled and nodded, loping off in the direction where the group of people were waiting in the village.

-0-0-0-0-

Hermione woke up the morning after the Death Eater's had nearly found her with a pile of books at the end of her bed.

She beamed with happiness, realising that Fenrir had probably called the others to lend her books that she could read in her free time.

The day before, he had asked her why she had left the house, and she had explained to him that she was getting bored out of her mind, being stuck in the house with nothing other than research to do. She was a hard worker, but she needed other things to do as well.

And so, by the looks of it, he had gotten her fiction novels.

Hermione smiled again when she saw a particular book on the top of the pile that looked older than the rest. She picked it up and read the title.

_Hogwarts, A History._

Hermione frowned bemusedly, wondering how Fenrir had gotten hold of this book in particular. She opened the front page, and looked down at her lap when a piece of parchment fell onto it. She put the book down carefully and picked up the note, instantly recognising the swirly, elegant handwriting of the headmaster.

She practically ripped the parchment in her haste to break the wax seal, and unfolded the paper, her eyes flying over the headmaster's words. A delighted smile graced her face as she read the letter.

.  
 _Dear Miss Granger,_

 _I hope this letter finds you in good health and settling into  
your new life as well as can be expected. _  
_Severus contacted me in the early hours the other morning,  
requesting that I send this particular book to you. Not only  
is it a copy of Hogwarts, A History, but it contains all of the  
books in the Hogwarts library, including those in the restricted  
section. _  
_Simply tap the book with the end of your wand and utter the  
incantation, 'impleo,' for the list of books to show on the front  
page. If you tap on the name of a particular book with the end  
of your wand, the front page will transform into the blurb of  
the chosen book. From there you may utter, 'laegus,' if you wish  
to read the full book, or, 'ineo,' if you wish to return to the  
contents page. If you wish to return the book to Hogwarts,  
a History merely murmur, 'videlicet.'_  
 _I hope this book will provide you with much entertainment,_  
and any information that you may need if you wish to carry  
out any research projects whilst you are in hiding.

 _Yours,_  
 _Albus Dumbledore_  
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry  
Order of Merlin, first class

_Postscript – feel free to contact me at any point during your  
stay if you have any inquiries about the Order, or if you are  
simply feeling lonely. Give the letters to Severus, and he will  
bring them to me._   
_._

Hermione giggled happily, and rolled on the bed, clutching the letter from the headmaster as if it were a gift from god.

She now had a whole library at her disposal! This was too good! She didn't even know where to start.

She quickly picked up the battered copy of Hogwarts, A History and set it on the bedside table before she turned back to the large pile of books that the others had provided her with. She lay on her belly as she rifled through each and every one of them, idly noting that nearly all the books were either about dark magic or tragic fiction novels. She giggled again and shook her head at how the men's macabre personalities overflowed to their choice in books.

It took her nearly an hour to simply read through the books blurbs. Hermione couldn't tear her eyes away from the entrancing texts since she was so enthralled.

When her stomach grumbled, Hermione grumbled back at it, annoyed that her hunger had to make itself known while she was so stuck in her new tomes.

She stood from her bed, carefully arranging the books so that they wouldn't get damaged, and made her way into the kitchen.

She turned the kettle on and whilst waiting for the water to boil, she wrote her response to professor Dumbledore.

.  
 _Dear professor,_

 _Thank you for enquiring as to my health and wellbeing. I am  
well in both respects. Hiding isn't as bad as I had previously  
thought, though I must admit it is frustrating not knowing  
what is happening outside these walls. I wish I could describe  
to you how beautiful the wilderness is surrounding my hiding  
place, but I am afraid that, being in hiding, I am unable to do  
so. Suffice it to say that it is stunning, and I loathe not being  
able to venture so far as the front door. _  
_Thank you so much for the book. It will be a great help in  
relieving my boredom. It really is a fascinating text. Would you  
be able to point me to a title that might describe how creating  
such a book is possible?_  
 _Naturally, I have many enquiries as to the comings and goings_  
of the Order. Have there been any breakthroughs in bringing  
down the Dark Lord? How are Harry, Ron, and the others?

_Thank you again for the book and for your offer of frequent  
communication._

_Yours,_   
_Hermione Granger_   
_._

The kettle whistled on the stove shortly after, and Hermione stood, leaving the letter where it was so that the ink would dry.

She bustled around the small kitchen, making breakfast the muggle way. She thought it lazy to do everything through magic. Even though magic was in her nature, she had been raised a muggle, and often found it more productive to do things through hard work.

She was buttering her toast when a small, dried red blob on the island counter caught her attention. She frowned and tutted when she realised it must have been dried blood from Fenrir's dinner last night. She spread some jam onto her toast and took a bite. She placed the toast on her plate and grabbed a damp cloth to wipe the red dot from the white counter.

As Hermione sat down to eat again, she pondered her predicament with Fenrir.

She had realised as he left the day before, that she missed him when he wasn't in the house. As soon as the revelation had hit her, Hermione had balked and stood frozen for quite a while.

As the shock wore off, the first coherent thought that came to her was, ' _bollocks_.'

She was in a bit of a pickle now.

Before, it had simply been animal attraction to him, but now there was some sort of emotional connection to him too. The only problem was that she knew there was no sort of emotional attraction on his side at all.

She was a good fuck, and that was it.

There was no doubt that he was physically attracted to her. The first night she had met him that had become apparent. Why else would he make a comment about how 'succulent' her thighs looked in a towel?

The days that Fenrir did come back, resulted in constant bantering between the two. Often, Fenrir would tell her to go do something, Hermione would refuse, Fenrir would try to dominate her, and depending on the mood that Hermione was in, she would either submit or fight him. If the latter occurred, it would often result in a very one-sided wrestling match that would end up with Fenrir on top of her, dominating her anyways.

She'd never say it out loud, but it was awfully fun to rile him up.

Hermione sighed dejectedly. She had really buggered it up now. Not only had she been kidnapped and forced to share secrets about the Order that had put many lives in danger, but she was also working against the Order to find a way to bring down Voldemort sooner, rather than later.

Now she was getting attached to a werewolf that had more evil in him than good.

She sighed again.

She was doomed.

-0-0-0-0-

Fenrir loped into the village centre, composing himself so that he at least looked respectful and unaware of what the group of feral's were up to.

"Welcome," he greeted respectfully, stretching his arms wide as he walked to the group of four men and one woman standing altogether. He smiled, baring his pointed teeth at them.

The group responded with their own greetings, four of the five recognising him for his status, and bowing their heads respectfully. The largest male, standing in the front of the small pack, however, stood tall and proud, refusing to submit to him.

Fenrir narrowed his eyes at him minutely, briefly wondering what the insolent pup was planning.

The small group had been circling his pack's territory for nearly a month now. Every time he would send sentries out to look for them, they would run to the outer barriers of their lands and subsequently disappear. The fact that they ran and hadn't made contact with him before now had made him suspicious. If this were an honest pack, they would have come through earlier.

Judging by the large male's disrespectful behaviour, he was planning on challenging him and the other four were merely his followers.

He looked at the group inquisitively. The four would live, but the large pup would show his respect, whether Fenrir had to beat him into it or if not, he would die.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Fenrir asked.

The disrespectful male stepped forward. Fenrir's eyebrows quirked in slight surprise. The pup really was insolent. Did he have a death wish?

Fenrir's eyes flickered to the four that were standing respectfully in place. Their eyes had glanced upwards to watch the interaction between he, and their 'leader.' He noticed they all wore the same pained expressions on their faces. By the looks of things, they either didn't have much faith in their leader's abilities to bring him down, or they thought that their leader's behaviour was embarrassing.

"We have come to issue a formal challenge," drawled the leader of the feral group.

"Oh, really?" Fenrir asked, raising an eyebrow at the group. "And what are you challenging?"

"Your status as alpha," the pup declared.

The pup's group glanced up to see Fenrir's reaction, only to be sorely disappointed when the large werewolf didn't even bat an eyelid. To be honest, Fenrir wasn't wholly surprised. Every now and then there would be a particularly stupid pup that would challenge his status. Here, it appeared, was one of those idiots.

"You think this wise, boy?" Fenrir asked. "I am the alpha for a reason."

"I am stronger than you," the pup growled, his fingers flexing at his sides to show pointed, yellowing claws, "ask anyone who knows me."

Fenrir took a deep breath, sighing as if he were carrying a great burden just by talking to the young pup. "Those who know you... Have they seen _me_ recently? Or are they simply judging by passing tales told by others, because I seriously doubt their judgement. At least where it concerns you."

The pup stayed silent, and that was all the answer Fenrir needed.

"Anything else?" Fenrir asked condescendingly.

The pup growled low in his throat at being mocked, but Fenrir hardly cared.

"What's your name, pup?"

Said pup growled again, most likely due to the name Fenrir kept calling him.

"David."

Fenrir hummed, quirking his eyebrows. The name 'David' had been common for over a century. He wasn't really sure how old the pup was, but judging by his physical appearance, David was under his fiftieth year. Fenrir had hoped to determine how old the pup was after learning his name, but that apparently proved null and void.

He turned from the group. The pup wouldn't gain the status s alpha if he attacked Fenrir when his back was turned. The status as alpha could only be gained in an honourable fight.

"We will fight after lunch," Fenrir announced as he walked away.

Fenrir turned his head to look behind him when he heard hurried footsteps approaching. They were much too light to belong to the pup, and so he didn't turn until they were directly behind him.

"Ava," he greeted, nodding his head to her respectfully.

"Alpha," she replied, bowing her head. "Fidus and I were planning on going to the tavern for lunch this afternoon, and we were wondering if you would join us."

The woman glanced up at Fenrir to see his face.

"I would be honoured," Fenrir replied. He was planning on going to the tavern anyways. The feral pack would most likely be led to the tavern by his local wolves out of common decency, and Fenrir would then be able to watch the pup for any weaknesses he could use in the upcoming fight.

Fenrir ate an average sized meal, wanting the carbohydrates, but not wanting to be so full that he would have difficulty walking because of a stomach ache. The pup, however, was gorging himself. Obviously he wasn't particularly experienced when it came to this sort of thing since he was aiming to fight like a stuffed turkey.

Everyone had a weakness, and David's were badly concealed. The pup was a boisterous young lad, and was having quite a time with his small pack as they feasted on lunch. Fenrir watched, eyes sharp, as David bellowed a laugh.

It was an energetic laugh, but it cut short and left the pup slightly breathless. Fenrir watched as he raised his hand and placed it on his right side for a mere second, before dropping it to the table again.

It appeared David had weak ribs, probably due to an old break or fracture.

That would definitely be useful.

Fenrir was brought out of his thoughts by a question directed at him.

"Has the Dark Lord been keeping you busy, alpha?" Fidus asked. "Lately you seem to be called away more often than usual."

Fenrir hummed in reply. He didn't really know how to answer that question. Yes, the Dark Lord had been calling him to do jobs, but no more than usual. Truthfully, he had been spending more time at his cabin than he had before. And, the only reason he did that was because of the frizzy haired woman that was currently living there.

Finally, Fenrir cleared his throat and answered. "Yes, he has been calling me."

The threesome became silent for a few seconds.

Fenrir raised his head when he heard Fidus ask his mate, "why are you smiling, Ava?"

Fenrir's gaze snapped to the woman across from him and indeed caught the knowing smile that was on the female's face.

"Oh, nothing," Ava answered noncommittally.

Fidus, respecting his mates' wishes, dropped his head and didn't question her further. Fenrir, however, waited til Ava met his eyes. His own narrowed when Ava's smile widened and she sent him a wink before she looked down at her food again.

Fenrir frowned and asked the same question Fidus had. "Why do you smile so?"

Ava looked up at him, her features trained to look innocent. When she saw the serious look on her alpha's face she sighed. No one defied their alpha.

"With all due respect, alpha, I do not think it is the Dark Lord that is keeping you away from the village," she answered, smiling at him knowingly once more.

Fenrir's eyebrows shot up. "And where would you say I've been?"

Ava's smile widened and she merely murmured softly, "I smell a female on you. And by the smells of it, this female is in heat."

Fidus' head shot up, his eyes wide in shock. Never in his hundred years had Fidus ever seen Fenrir give a woman attention longer than a single night. This was shocking news indeed.

Fenrir watched as Fidus leaned over and sniffed him curiously. His beta's eyes widened further, and he looked up at his alpha with unadulterated shock.

Fenrir silenced them both with a low growl. "It would do you both well to ensure that this conversation is never repeated to another soul."

"Why?" Fidus asked in a low voice to ensure no one overheard them, "is she not a wolf?"

Fenrir shook his head. "Not yet."

"She smells like a wolf," Fidus pondered.

"I have bitten her," Fenrir answered. "Just not in wolf form."

"So she will change at the next lunar eclipse," Fidus concluded.

"Yes."

Lunch passed, and the news that the alpha was being challenged had spread throughout the village like wildfire. Most of the village had convened at the town centre; those that didn't were the young women that were taking care of the young pups in the school and in day care. Some young pups that had the day off from school were gathered as well, sitting at the feet of their parents as they awaited the grand fight that would surely ensue.

The village was so small and lacking in educational labour that the children only had half school days, six days a week, otherwise the school would be overflowing. Those under the age of twelve went to school between the hours of eight and twelve in the morning, whilst those between the ages of thirteen and seventeen went to school from twelve-thirty and four thirty in the afternoon.

Fenrir walked into the town centre where David was waiting. The pup was looking haughtily at the large pack around him, and Fenrir stifled an aggravated growl. If the pup were to be the new alpha, then he should extend some courtesy to his people from the very start.

Fenrir sighed. The man had a lot to learn.

Too bad the pup wouldn't live to be taught though.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance   
Chapter 11

'Fun With Murtlap'  
.

Fenrir walked up to David, his boots crunching on the hard ground as he approached his opponent. The pup sneered at him and Fenrir merely quirked an eyebrow in response. Now was not the time to get angry simply because the pup had no manners. By losing his temper, he might as well just hand over his status without a fight. Getting angry made one's movements sloppy and most likely would cause him to lose the fight.

Fidus and David's beta walked up to the two large werewolves that were currently staring holes into one another, and stood behind their respective leaders, nodding towards each other respectfully.

"Shall we start then?" asked Fenrir.

The other three nodded to him, and the two alphas stretched out their clawed hands, grasping each other's wrists to make the pact between their two packs.

Firstly Fidus addressed David. "Do you, David Mosby, challenge one, Fenrir Greyback, for his title, pack and lands?"

"I do," David answered shortly.

A pulse went through Fenrir's arm, slowly dissipating til it reached his shoulder. Fenrir looked down at his arm, noticing how the veins stood out due to the blood pact that was being made. He could map each and every blue rivulet in his arm as it arched against the tanned covering of his skin.

The two alphas glared at each other, gripping each other's forearms in bone crushing grips, the tips of their yellowing claws digging into the forearms of the other. Dark red blood dripped down their forearms, pooling at their feet, creating dark puddles against the brown earth.

David's beta then addressed Fenrir. "And do you, Fenrir Greyback, accept the challenge; wilfully giving your status, pack, and lands to David Mosby should he defeat you in a fair fight?"

"I do," Fenrir answered, having said the words many times before. He had been challenged a countless number of times since he became alpha.

Another pulse went through his arm, and Fenrir looked down in time to see the veins throb and quiver under his skin as he completed his vow in the pact.

"Very well," announced Fidus, before he turned to David. "Remember, rules are rules. Should either of you break the regulations, you will be forfeit immediately and the other shall be announced the winner-"

"Let's get this over with, Fidus," Fenrir growled, itching to sink into a crouch and snarl at the bigheaded werewolf across from him, "We don't have all day."

"No wands or weaponry are permitted," Fidus continued, knowing that Fenrir wasn't actually giving an order, "should a weapon be introduced, the offender's opponent will be allowed two free body shots without blocking. Candidates may forfeit at any point in the fight, at which point they will forfeit any future challenges to the same opponent, and they will be stripped of their current title. If this does not happen, the match will end when an opponent recognises defeat, or is killed."

Fidus turned and beckoned for David's beta to stand beside him, and the pair walked to the sidelines, at which time Fidus finally yelled, "Candidates, ready yourselves!"

Fenrir smiled a pointy-toothed grin at the pup across from him, baring his teeth at the shorter man. He longed to teach the pup a lesson, to sink his claws into the flesh of the insolent pup til he was brought to his knees. To hear the boy yowl in pain as Fenrir ripped him limb from limb.

The boy had lost his chance at life the moment he refused to submit to Fenrir. The very moment they greeted each other.

Fenrir's eyes flashed to his beta as Fidus raised a red flag, signalling the formal fight.

"3!"

Fenrir closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply, identifying the musky sweetness of the forest around the mingling scents of the werewolves in his pack.

"2!"

He listened as the breeze tickled the leaves of the surrounding bushes. Cloaks swirled around the legs of his pack, the occasional shuffle of feet would crackle against the hard ground. A child whispered to himself, making Fenrir smile at his words.

"Win, alpha, win."

"1!"

He felt his heart rate relax from its previous excited thrum to a steady thump. His breathing deepened and steadied, as his taut muscles prepared themselves for the sudden attack. He could feel each and every band on sinew in his body tighten and loosen to allow his low crouch against the ground.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

"Begin!"

The two men roared, and launched themselves at each other, connecting with a crack of thunder.

Their jaws snapped at each other, pointed canines dug into each other's flesh as blood spurted into their mouths. Their claws dug at each other for grip, the hard points digging underneath muscle to hook themselves in place.

David yowled in pain as Fenrir caught his swinging hand, and pulled his fingers back with a snap. The older werewolf then blocked a wild swipe made by the pups other arm, and instead kicked the pup's legs out from underneath him.

David landed on his back with a thump, the younger were's air rushing from his lungs as his weakened ribs were jostled.

Fenrir stood back, knowing the pup wouldn't be moving for a little while yet. He watched with cold eyes as David wheezed for breath, clutching his right side in obvious pain, but still stubborn enough to get himself onto his hands and knees.

"Stay down, pup," Fenrir commanded.

He had decided to kill David earlier when the pup had looked so disrespectful and arrogant. Now, looking down at him as the younger werewolf gasped for air, he just looked pitiful. Fenrir couldn't kill him.

He wasn't worth it.

Fenrir waited til the pup caught his breath and got to his feet before he growled quietly. "Forfeit. You're not worth my time."

"I'm not done yet," the pup spat, looking up at Fenrir, his face contorted into a livid snarl.

Fenrir looked down at David with a sneer. "Yes, you are."

The older werewolf then turned from his opponent and yelled to Fidus, "the pup recognises defeat! He's done!"

Fenrir turned from his beta, and started walking from the town centre. The wolves all howled at their alpha's triumph, their hands clapping in merriment.

He didn't get to take five steps before he heard a distinct shuffle of feet getting closer accompanied by David's snarl. "Hey! I'm not done! Fight me!"

Fenrir heard a gurgle, and then something hit the back of his head. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes going wide in astonishment. Slowly, he brought his hand up and sifted his fingers through the dirty hair on his head.

When he pulled them back, they were wet. David had spat at the back of his head.

Fenrir swore he saw red for a second.

His face remained stoic, but inside he was boiling with a raging fury. Turning slowly, Fenrir looked into the angry face of David, and motioned for the pup to continue with a wave of his clawed hand.

David snarled, and lunged.

Fenrir wasn't going to play games anymore. This was going to end. Now.

He quickly blocked David's swing, and brought his palm up on the pup's nose, breaking it. David brought his hands up to cover the damaged appendage. With nothing to cover his side, Fenrir was able to break a few of the pup's ribs with a heavy punch. He heard the bones splinter. He didn't wait for a reaction when he dropped to one knee, grasped David's leg, and dislocated the pup's kneecap with a heavy sideways jab to the joint.

He then stood and waited for a moment til the pup fell to his knees, a shriek of pain emitting from him as he landed on his unprotected knee.

Fenrir looked down at him coldly. The pup looked up at him, eyes wide.

"There's a reason why I am alpha," Fenrir growled coldly before he reached out, grasped the sides of the man's head and twisted it roughly, growling in satisfaction when he heard the sickening crunch of David's vertebrae shattering beneath his hands.

He shoved the pup's body away from him, the corpse falling on the ground with a heavy thump; its head laying at an odd direction, its mouth hung open, eyes wide and glassy.

Fenrir growled down at David's body before he turned back to his beta, barked some orders, and apparated away.

-0-0-0-0-

Hermione's head rose from one of her many books when she heard a crack of thunder. She frowned, bemused as to why Fenrir was back so early. It hadn't even been a day since he had left to do whatever he did for the many weeks he spent away from the cabin.

Fenrir had a distinct sound of apparition, something that Hermione found rather interesting. It wasn't the sound of a gunshot, or a pop, that usually came with other wizards. It was a loud roar, like the air couldn't separate fast enough for Fenrir's sudden appearance, and so it was louder than the more controlled apparation of normal wizards.

She gasped when he walked in, and jumped up from the chair. "Oh my goodness, Fenrir. What happened?"

He looked up at her, appearing quite startled as she rushed over to him. He then looked down at his chest and comprehension finally dawned on his face.

He was caked with blood, some of it his, some of it the dead pups. Mostly, he had deep scratches and bite wounds from David as they had clawed at each other. The pup had long nails, and most of Fenrir's scratches were half an inch deep, and still oozing blood.

"I am fine," he assured, brushing past her to go to the kitchen.

Hermione followed him, and when she entered the room she found him wiping at his chest, the green tea cloth already brown with the amount of blood that was trickling from his chest and arms.

The wounds were still bleeding, signalling that they were mere minutes old. Hermione wondered whether this was another Voldemort orientated punishment, or something else.

She was brought out of her pondering when she heard a frustrated growl rumble from the large werewolf in front of her. There were a series of cuts, just above his kidneys that ran from his left hip, all the way up to cross over his spine and end at the centre of his scapula.

Now that the blood was mostly gone, the last dregs simply oozing little red tendrils down Fenrir's tanned skin, Hermione noticed what the wounds looked like.

It looked like Fenrir had been mauled by a bear. There were red dotted puncture wounds; crescent shaped like hands had attempted to grasp at his flesh. Then there were scrapes criss-crossing his chest and back, all of them accompanied by four parallel tears.

Either Voldemort was punishing his followers with wild beasts now, or Fenrir had gotten into a scuffle with another werewolf.

"Here," Hermione murmured gently, as she reached out and grasped the blood-caked towel from his hand.

She ignored how he stared at her, and instead, quickly scourgified the blood from the towel and dabbed the long wounds on his back gently. She didn't want to cause him any more pain, and so she did it as lightly as she could.

"I'm not going to break, runt," she heard him rumble, "I need those cleaned. I can handle the pain."

Hermione sighed, and quickly summoned a vial from the basement. She heard the clink of the glass bottle settle on the table, but ignored it. She would need it later.

"What is that?" Fenrir asked curiously.

"Essence of Murtlap," she replied, walking over to the tap and dousing the cloth in water. She returned and set about cleaning the deeper part of the wounds of any dirt, ignoring his pained growl as the material dragged along the tender, exposed flesh.

"And what does it do?"

Hermione looked up at him and steadied him with a level stare.

"It has healing properties. It'll help with the throbbing and pain."

Fenrir frowned at her. "I don't need any help healing."

Hermione shrugged and replied, "yes, but I imagine you don't want to sit around in pain while you do heal, do you?"

Fenrir didn't reply, and instead, tilted his head to stare at her curiously, like an inquisitive wild animal. Truthfully, he couldn't understand why he would need the stuff. He would be healed in a matter of minutes.

Which brought him to another thought. Why had he apparated here, when he knew he wouldn't need medical attention? The village had a trained mediwitch. Surely he could have gone to her to clean his cuts. It wasn't soon after he questioned himself that he knew the answer. He wanted _her_ to clean him up. He wanted _her_ hands on him, not some indifferent witch. Little Hermione was the only one that would touch him so intimately. Any other witch would be ripped to shreds for such a thing.

He continued to stare down at Hermione as she inspected his wounds carefully, her hands so light on him as if she would break him if she put too much pressure on his wounds. The tips of her fingers ran along his skin, but never came in contact with his tender cuts.

And that's when it hit him.

She cared for him. That was the only reason why she would treat him so tenderly and why she would relieve his pain, even if just for a few moments.

She _cared_ whether he was in pain. She _cared_ about his wellbeing.

It didn't matter to her whether or not he could heal faster than other men. The only thing that mattered was the fact that he was injured, and she could do something about it.

Fenrir felt a satisfied rumble escape from his chest as he looked down at the little woman in front of him.

Hermione heard him growl, and looked up worriedly. "Am I hurting you?"

Fenrir looked down at her, his expression uncharacteristically soft, and murmured, "I'm fine."

Hermione then straightened, retrieved the Murtlap, and started gently applying it to his many cuts. Fenrir ignored the tickling sensation of her fingers spreading the cold gooey substance to his cuts, and raised his hand to trail gently along her arm. He heard Hermione's sharp intake of breath, noticing how her eyes flashed up to his before she lowered them again and continued with her work as if nothing had happened.

She continued routinely, slowly making her way up his chest and arms. She paused, her fingertips on his neck as he shifted uncomfortably at the touch. His eyes flashed down to hers in warning, his lips twitching back slightly as if itching to bare his teeth at her.

No one had ever dared to touch his neck before. Not ever. It was a new sensation for him, being so utterly exposed beneath her fingertips. The only reason why he didn't rip her to shreds on the spot was because he doubted she would be able to give him a scratch, let alone kill him. The little woman was a spitfire, but judging by her behaviour, she'd only ever hurt someone if they hurt her first. And he hadn't hurt her... today...

When she was finished with his neck, Hermione looked up at his face and noticed a scratch stretching down his temple to his jaw. She lifted her hand and applied the Murtlap, careful that the essence wouldn't get in his eye.

She was about to pull her wrist away and move onto covering his back when he grasped her wrist in his large, warm hand, and yanked her to him.

She collided with his chest and emitted a muffled, "mphf!"

Fenrir's head dipped down to her neck, and he nuzzled her mark, gently nipping the skin a few times.

Hermione tensed up, her face scrunching in horror. She might not have minded that he had pulled her to him had his chest not been covered in Murtlap essence.

"Ew," she groaned, as he continued to nuzzle her.

Fenrir chuckled, "I don't recall ever getting that sort of reaction from a woman I have given my attentions to."

Hermione attempted to squirm away from him, but he was too strong and growled at her warningly not to move.

"You're sticky, Fenrir," she whined, grimacing as the stickiness soaked through her shirt and rubbed on her arms.

"Am I?" he asked. Hermione could feel him smirk against her skin. "Well then, we'll just have to remedy that wont we?"

Hermione looked up at him in alarm when he pulled back and grinned wolfishly at her. He leaned down, and at the same time, his hands moved from around her waist to cup her bottom, squeezing the globes in his hands. Hermione attempted to move back but Fenrir simply followed her til she was backed against the island in the centre of the kitchen.

She shrieked girlishly when he leaned down and rubbed the Murtlap on his face along her cheek and neck, drawing a deep, rumbling laugh from Fenrir as he continued to nuzzle her playfully. Hermione pushed at his chest, dissolving into giggles as he nuzzled her face and squeezed her bottom simultaneously.

Fenrir pulled back, grinning at her dishevelled appearance as she attempted to wipe the Murtlap from her face.

"There," he declared triumphantly, "now I'm not sticky."

Hermione huffed good-naturedly. "Yes, only because you transferred the stickiness to me! Look, my clothes are wet now."

Fenrir smirked at her. "It's your fault for wearing them, really. I have no sympathy."

Hermione gaped at him. "What else can I do? Walk around naked? I don't think so!"

Fenrir's eyes glassed over as he stared above her head. Slowly, a lecherous smirk overtook his features, and he looked down at her. Hermione was positive he was picturing her naked. "I should think that would be very beneficial to both of us."

Hermione chortled, and murmured, "Nice try."

Fenrir grinned wolfishly, his eyes glassing over again as his clawed hands squeezed her bottom once more. He hummed, that lecherous smirk returning as he pulled her closer.

"Too bad," he breathed, looking down at her once more.

Hermione chortled again, attempting to stifle the arousal that was rising in the pit of her belly as Fenrir pulled her flush against his body.

"Can you let go of my butt so that I can reach your back?" she asked, smiling at him humorously.

Fenrir chuckled and released her, surprising Hermione somewhat. Had she known he would do as she said simply by asking him, then she would have done it an age ago.

She turned him around to reach his back and applied the essence of Murtlap, even though his cuts were scarring already. To be honest, she was avoiding him. Had they continued on the route they were going before, Hermione was sure she probably would have jumped on him.

Upon finishing, she quickly diverted towards the sink and placed the tea towel in the water before banishing the partially empty essence of Murtlap vial back to the basement. She turned and frowned when she didn't see Fenrir in the kitchen. She moved over to the living room and found he wasn't there either.

"Fenrir?" she called out, wondering why he had disappeared so quickly.

After a few seconds of waiting, Fenrir didn't answer, and Hermione sighed rather sadly. Although he had only been gone for a day, Hermione was glad that he was back. Apart from Snape, he was her only consistent visitor, and when he left, Hermione felt an odd emptiness settle within her.

She sighed again and walked over to the book she had been reading earlier, intending to pick up where she had left off before he had come in covered in blood and guts.

She had only finished the first sentence when the front door was opened. She looked up, surprised, and saw Fenrir carrying a large, bloodied chunk of meat at the tips of his claws. Despite herself, Hermione felt her heart lift at the sight of his return. A small amount of relief settled within her at the fact that he had not gone, but simply gotten himself food.

He looked at Hermione expectantly, but didn't say a word.

Hermione sighed and stood, beckoning him into the kitchen where he dropped the meat down on the island with a wet slap. Truthfully, Hermione didn't mind cooking for him anymore. It was just something she did now, and she didn't begrudge him the small favour. Briefly, she wondered if he knew how to cook at all, or if he simply ate the meat raw when he was alone.

"Haven't you had lunch yet?" she asked to make conversation as she cut the large chunk of meat into strips with a sharp meat knife.

"I did," he answered, "I'm hungry again."

Hermione felt the tips of her mouth turning upwards in a fond smile. She hadn't realised before she had gone into hiding how large a werewolf's appetite was. Remus had never really shown abnormal eating behaviours, and so it took her meeting Greyback to realise that they practically ate five full-sized meals a day in order to keep up with their regenerative abilities.

When she sat down the plate in front of Fenrir, she asked bluntly, "so what happened? Did you get in a fight?"

Fenrir gave her a blank stare that said, ' _obviously_.'

Hermione smiled sheepishly, "yes, stupid question. But, what happened?"

Fenrir swallowed his bite and picked up another slice of meat. "Pup forgot his place is what happened. Challenged my pack and my title."

"Looks like he laid a good one on you," Hermione commented.

Fenrir snorted, and tore a small chunk off the strip of meat in his fingers. "This is nothing compared to what I did to him, runt. I'm the oldest werewolf in Europe. No pup is going to land more than a scratch on me."

Hermione didn't want to know what Fenrir did to the werewolf that had challenged him. She knew him well enough to take his word for it when he said that his cuts were nothing compared to what he did to the man that had challenged him. To be honest, Hermione wouldn't really be surprised if Fenrir had killed him.

Instead of replying to his comment, Hermione asked, "How old are you?"

She looked up at him when he didn't reply, thinking that she had somehow offended him. His face was contorted into a pondering expression. His lips were pinched, his brow furrowed somewhat.

"Don't really remember," he finally answered, his eyes narrowed in thought.

Hermione blinked at him. How could he not remember the year of his birth? Surely he wasn't _that_ old.

"Well," Hermione continued, her curiosity peaked, "what is the earliest thing you can remember about the time?"

"Uh..." Fenrir hummed in thought, shaking his head bemusedly as he sifted through his earliest memories.

Finally he murmured with a mystified shrug, "I remember a couple of witch trials when I was a lad."

Hermione blinked. "I'm sorry, did you just say witch trials?"

Fenrir nodded, popping another piece of meat into his mouth as he smirked at her shocked expression.

Hermione gaped at him for a few seconds. "That would make you over two hundred and eighty years old."

Fenrir raised an eyebrow and swallowed. "Clearly."

Hermione continued to gape at him.

Finally, Fenrir rumbled an amused chuckle and murmured, "Weren't expecting that answer, were you, runt?"


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

Recalcitrance   
Chapter 12

'Concoction Complete'  
.

Hermione gaped at the cauldron in front of her in absolute, unequivocal, patent, unarguable, total, and utter shock.

They had done it. They had really done it!

She felt numb as the iridescent blue potion swirled in cylindrical patterns within her pewter cauldron. It had taken eight and a half months of hard research, and had finally finished in the form of a liquid that would aid in bringing down the most evil man in modern history.

It was strange really. Voldemort, questionably the most vile and powerful man of the age, was just as susceptible to liquids as any other person.

The fact made him just that little more human to Hermione, and a little more accessible.

Slowly, a smile spread across Hermione's lips. The potion was complete. All the possible tests had been run with positive results. Sure, they wouldn't know for certain if the potion actually worked unless they found a test subject that was willing to rip its soul in half and then have the ripped half destroyed, but it was the best they had, and Hermione was almost positive that the potion was correct and did the job right.

It was at that moment that Hermione squealed girlishly and jumped up and down in jubilance.

It was done! It was complete!

Hermione didn't know how many times she would have to tell herself that fact for it to settle within her mind completely. The situation was still surreal. The fact that they were mere steps away from killing Voldemort was so entirely dreamlike that Hermione had little choice but to grin like a loon.

Now, all they had to do was complete or find a spell that would track Voldemort's Horcruxes. Then, they would be able to find them, destroy them, and then kill him when he was a mere mortal once more.

Still grinning, Hermione scooped up the potion into a glass vial, set it down on the table like it was priceless – which it was – and virtually danced her way out of the room.

She all but sprinted from the basement, tripping over her feet a few times as she scrambled her way to the front door, yelling out for Fenrir excitedly.

"Fenrir!" she yelled, the front door banging open in her excitement, "Fenrir, great news!"

The only response she received was a loud snort and the view of Fenrir's silhouette as he sat up suddenly from lying on the couch.

"Eh?" he asked unenthusiastically, turning to her, squinting at her through one closed and one half closed pair of eyes.

Hermione bounced over to him, straddling his lap in her excitement.

He squinted at her for a few more seconds before lying back on the couch, his eyes closing, and mumbling, "Tell me in the morning. Sleep time, girlie."

He patted her thigh absently and started snoring again. Hermione looked at him blankly, blinking in haste.

"Fenrir!" she hissed, thumping his broad chest with a curled fist.

Fenrir opened his eyes again, glaring at her, though it wasn't quite as vicious as it normally would be due to his lethargy.

"What, woman?" he growled, his voice gravelly with sleep.

"The potion is done!" she announced proudly, bouncing up and down excitedly.

At that moment, Fenrir's eyes flew wide open, his face scrunching into a grimace. It looked like he was in pain. Hermione frowned at him, baffled by his sudden change in countenance.

"Fenrir, are you-"

"Don't. Bounce. Like that," he murmured, though it sounded more like a strained whine.

Hermione continued to frown at him for a few seconds in confusion. It didn't take long, however, for comprehension to dawn on her. Her face flushed beetroot red.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, scrambling to get off him, only to have herself yanked down onto his chest as he grasped her arm in an iron hard grip.

"Uh, uh, uh," he scolded, now sounding very much awake, "you finish what you start, little Hermione."

Hermione looked up at him, eyes wide, as she registered how his hands were trailing up her jean-clad thighs. The little nipping sounds coming from his nails catching in the fabric were the only things Hermione could hear apart from their quiet breathing. Only when his hands cupped her bottom did Hermione feel more than her cheeks heating up.

Arousal was slowly, but steadily, making its way into her being, and Hermione didn't fight its progress. She was tired of the emotional torture of fighting her want for him. It had taken months and months of admiring him from afar, constantly trying to convince herself that entering some sort of relationship with the large werewolf was a bad idea. Now, she could honestly care less whether it was a bad idea or not. She wanted to kiss him, and no little prude of a guardian angel on her right shoulder was going to convince her otherwise.

For once, she was going to listen to the little devil on her left. And by golly it felt good!

Slowly, unsure of what to do, Hermione trailed her hands up the hard slopes of Fenrir's torso, her fingers dipping between each abdominal muscle of his six-pack, registering the telltale bump of her fingers meeting the undersides of his pecks, his pebbled nipples, and the long plane of his chest.

She felt his chest vibrate as he let out a low groan.

Hermione felt her eyes flicker up to his own, amber meeting grey. They looked at each other for a second before everything crumbled around them.

Fenrir sat up abruptly, his clawed hands reaching to delve into her wild mane of hair and grip it hard. He pulled her roughly to him, their chests colliding, his head descending to crush his lips to hers.

Hermione responded, hot and desperate, pressing her mouth to his almost brutally. He bit down on her lip, and when she gasped, he thrust his hot tongue into her mouth, possessing her flesh, taking what was his.

Blood rushed within Hermione's head, swirling against her ears like a rapid white-water river. He tasted musky, like the tang of blood was permanently engraved in his being from all his previous kills. It was slightly sweet, but it had a bit of sharpness to it. Hermione loved it. She plunged her tongue into his mouth, greedily tasting his warm flesh for more of his exciting taste.

Fenrir tore his mouth from hers, descending his hot lips onto the soft, creamy skin of Hermione's neck, devouring the silky flesh. Fenrir felt the vibrations against his lips and tongue as Hermione moaned, her small hands moving up and tangling in his dirty hair, pulling him closer.

"Finally _, finally_ ," Hermione heard Fenrir growl against her skin. "Such soft skin. All mine. _At last._ "

Heat was burning within Hermione's belly, twisting and knotting into an uncomfortable tightness that yearned to be released.

She gasped as Fenrir suddenly latched onto her mark, sucking greedily, but not drawing blood. His hands lowered from the tangled mess of her hair, instead, trailing the contours of Hermione's body, his hands greedy, and his movements searching. Finally, they stilled above the heaving mounds of her breasts, cupping them, his thumbs coming up to rub over her bra-clad nipples, drawing a sob of need from Hermione.

As she was desperate to loosen the twisting, writhing knot in her belly, Hermione lowered herself and grinded onto the evident hardness beneath her, drawing a heated growl from the werewolf that was sucking at her neck hungrily.

With a grunt of need, Fenrir's hands tore themselves from Hermione's breasts and gripped the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head. Hermione's pert breasts were revealed, clad in a simple yellow striped bra, the mounds threatening to spill out into his hands. He leaned forward with a growl, planting hot, wet kisses to the tops of her heaving breasts, his hands making quick work of the clasp at the front of her bra.

Her breasts broke free from their cotton confines, bouncing slightly, her rosy nipples hardening as Fenrir watched both breasts heave with each ragged breath. With a low growl, his head descended, his hands moving to wind around her waist possessively. Hermione's head fell back with a groan of longing as Fenrir's hot lips finally closed around a taut nipple. He stayed there, sucking, nibbling, licking the bud into a reddened, hardened peak, until he switched to the other and gave it the same torturous attention. Hermione gasped as the air cooled around her wet nipple, her hand reflexively tightening in his long, unruly hair.

"Fenrir, I –" she gasped, her core, hot and throbbing with need, "please, Fenrir. I – I need –"

Fenrir tore his mouth from her breast, rising only to kiss her hard, to plunder her mouth with his hot, wet tongue, the strong muscle taking what it wanted.

It was at that moment that she felt herself being lifted up and roughly deposited on the couch. Fenrir watched her breasts bounce at the contact and licked his lips, leaning over her, his arm muscles bunching as he rested his weight on them.

Before she had time to register it, Hermione felt his clawed hands grasp the waistband on her thin cotton pants, and yank down. Hermione gasped, excitement filling her as Fenrir gazed down at her hungrily and his features contorted into a feral neediness, his eyes sparkling with lust, his teeth bared in a dominant snarl.

He roughly grasped her hips, his claws piercing her flesh, and yanked her so that she was sitting at the very edge of the couch, her bottom practically hanging over the edge. He grasped her knees, and opened her legs wide, settling them around his wide frame as he knelt before her, his eyes trained on her cotton-clad core.

A sob of need was ripped from her chest as she felt him rest a hand between her thighs, his fingers rubbing along her folds, her simple white cotton knickers, which were quickly becoming damp with her juices, the only barrier between their skins.

She pressed herself against his hand desperately, grinding against his nimble fingers in small circles.

She moaned brokenly when she felt his hand pull away, her hands reaching up to bring him back, but he simply batted them away and roughly yanked her knickers from her. She briefly registered the sound of ripping fabric.

A yowl was torn from Hermione's throat as she felt the first contact on her core. She bucked her hips into his hand as he pressed a knuckle to her swelled nub.

"So responsive," he breathed, before he grasped her thighs once more and deposited them on his shoulders.

Hermione looked down at him, his head between her legs, and swore that she couldn't think of a more erotic sight in human history. It would be permanently engraved in her mind until she died.

Slowly, torturously, his head lowered until finally, he buried himself in her folds, his hot tongue sweeping from bottom to top. Hermione yelled out, her back arching, her hands grasping at the cushions in the pillow until the taut fabric bunched underneath her fingers. He pulled back, merely to part her folds, and then plunged his tongue deep into her pussy. He drank from her like a man who hadn't drunk in years, his tongue lapping at her core frantically, savouring each and every drop of her sweet liquor.

When he finally encircled her clit, Hermione thought she might suffocate him as she was grinding down on him so violently. Her hands had since abandoned trying to claw at the cushions and had instead found refuge in Fenrir's hair, grasping it, and pushing him into her harder.

The knot in her belly was winding tighter and tighter, coiling like a snake ready to strike. Her thighs jerked with each and every flick of his hot, wet tongue, steady gasps tore from her lips, and every now and then, a symphony of yowls and groans would pass through her as well.

He groaned, sucking at her nub hard, making Hermione's thighs clasp around his head hard, a shriek of ecstasy parting her lips.

His head lowered to her weeping opening, his tongue once again returning to plunder her wet pussy, flicking and curling against her. His knuckle found her nub once more, and he rubbed it frantically in tight little circles.

"Fuck," Hermione hissed, as the coiling reached its peak, her eyes flying open wide, her body arching, her muscles taut with the undeniable descent that was mere seconds away. "Don't stop, Fenrir... please, _don't ever stop_... I'm so close... please... _fuck!_ "

Hermione came hard, her pussy clamping down tightly as wave upon wave of ecstasy crashed down on her. Fenrir moaned against her, his hands still working at her clit as she jerked against him, a howl rushing past her lips as he prolonged her orgasm with his ministrations. He lapped at her hard, catching her juices as they rushed through her hot, pulsing pussy, making sure to catch each and every drop. He soothed her idly by raising a hand around the underside of her thigh, softly caressing her belly as she continued to twitch against his head, ragged gasps of air sucked between her lips.

Slowly, she came down from her high, her muscles relaxing. She could feel cold air against her as it cooled the sweat that had accumulated on her skin. She briefly registered a single droplet winding its way down between her breasts, only to deviate to the side once it reached her ribs and fall to the fabric of the couch.

She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, looking down through glazed eyes to see Fenrir resting his chin on her pelvic bone, licking his lips of her juices, looking uncharacteristically tender. She smiled at him goofily; her head tipping back to revel in the afterglow of one of the more intense orgasms in her life. She could still feel her core pulsating slightly, every now and then sending throbs right down to her toes. It was sublime.

"That was," she breathed, shaking her head in wonderment, "indescribable."

She opened her eyes again to look down at him with a smile.

"Thank you," she murmured softly.

Fenrir frowned at her, his head tilting to the side to rest his temple on one of her thighs, which were still resting on his shoulders. "Why do you thank me?"

Hermione smiled at him again. "No one's ever done that for me before. Any past... intimate situations I've been in, my partner was always reluctant to do that. So, thank you."

"Mm," Fenrir hummed, licking his lips again. "You taste divine. I'm glad no one else has tasted you."

To prove his point, he lowered his head again to give her a long lick.

Hermione hissed.

"Oh, I don't think I could handle another go," she groaned, her toes curling despite themselves, "last time was intense enough."

She felt the vibrations against her pussy as he chuckled. Her sensitive clit throbbed almost painfully, drawing a gasp and a sharp jerk of her hips from Hermione.

"S-Seriously," she stuttered, wriggling out of his grip, "I'll collapse if you do that again, and I need to mirror Snape to tell him the news about the potion."

Fenrir scowled up at her, but let her remove her legs from his shoulders, although he didn't let her move from the couch before he pinned her against the pillows and nipped at her mark til she submitted to him once again, the delicate arch of her neck curling to expose more of her creamy skin to his ministrations.

Only then did he release her, rolling so that he was sitting in the chair, and waved her off to her bedroom so that she could retrieve her mirror.

Hermione trotted around the room on slightly wobbly legs, picking up her clothes as she went. Unknown to her, she was giving Fenrir a rather delicious view of her pert bottom as she bent every time to pick up another slice of fabric.

However, when she picked up her knickers, she scowled, and rounded on him. The white cotton dangled from her index finger, the rip clear as there were now only two holes in the fabric instead of three.

"I hope this won't become a common occurrence," Hermione murmured, raising her eyebrows and attempting to give him a stern look. As if that would make any difference.

She swore she could see Fenrir's head swell with male pride as he looked upon her disfigured underwear.

"Oh, I'm sure it will be," he murmured pleasantly, a smug smirk quirking his lips.

The only response Hermione could muster was a tightening of her lips and a small tut, before she turned from the room.

She threw on her pyjamas as quickly as she could, retrieved the mirror from her bedside table, and returned to the living room where Fenrir still sat, his smug smirk yet to leave his face.

She rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile, and sat down between his legs. She turned to smirk at him, noticing how his eyes glittered as she wriggled to get comfortable against his chest. His large arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her against him snugly, and he rested his chin on her shoulder.

"Call Snape so we can get back to bed," he rumbled. Hermione shivered as the vibrations massaged the skin of her back, and shot him a pointed look when he rumbled a growl once more. She was sure he was simply doing it to provoke a reaction out of her.

Hermione turned back to the mirror, and murmured, "Severus Snape."

She didn't even think as she arched her head to the side slightly when Fenrir's nose skimmed along her neck, occasionally nipping at the tender skin.

She did, however, sit up straighter when Snape's face swam into view. Naturally, he had a scowl on his face.

"What is it this time, Granger?" he hissed in annoyance, "it's past ten at night!"

Behind her, Fenrir growled as Snape disrespected his woman, but quieted down when Hermione placed a small hand over his forearm and rubbed it soothingly.

Fenrir looked down at the frizzy haired woman in front of him and calmed, settling with glaring at Snape as if daring him to disrespect Hermione further. He nuzzled his face into her hair affectionately before resurfacing and facing the mirror once more.

Snape was looking at them, his eyes narrowed with a slightly revolted look on his face, but he said nothing.

"Well?" Snape asked, "What is it?"

Hermione cleared her throat and shuffled in the seat to sit up even straighter. Her back was as stiff as a board.

"The potion is complete," she announced proudly, a beaming white smile overtaking her features, "I performed all the preliminary tests and they came out as expected."

Snape's eyebrows rose, but apart from that he gave no other change in appearance. "Good. Now all we need to do is speak to Rabastan. He will create a spell that will track the Horcruxes, and then we can work from there."

Hermione nodded. "I've been thinking about that actually-"

"Of course you have," Snape muttered.

Fenrir growled again, his arms tightening around Hermione protectively. His glare at Snape deepened into an animalistic snarl.

If the dark haired man didn't start treating his woman with some respect, he would soon find himself on the receiving end of a few good punches.

Hermione cleared her throat, bringing both men's attention back to her. She could tell that there was tension between the two, despite them being hundreds of kilometres away from each other.

"As I was saying," she murmured, "the Dark Lord tracks his subjects with the Dark Marks. Essentially, he tracks them by tracking the mark within their essence. That's how he would distinguish one Death Eater from another; otherwise, he wouldn't be able to tell who was there. It's kind of like having the Marauder's Map with it showing the people, but not their names. You would be able to tell where people are, but not who they are."

Snape nodded his understanding, though Fenrir had no idea what this Marauder's Map business was about.

"I was thinking," Hermione continued, "what if we did that for Vol-"

Both men hissed, Fenrir going so far as to nip Hermione's neck painfully to shut her up.

"Sorry," she cringed, properly reprimanded for her bad language. "Anyway, what if we did that for the Dark Lord? What if we tracked the essence of him? I think that we would know where the real V- Dark Lord was because he would have the largest, slice, if you will, of soul. The rest of the pieces will be small slivers."

Snape nodded again. "It's an interesting theory. We will present it to Rabastan soon. For now, I would like to get back to bed."

Hermione nodded and said a polite goodbye, which Snape responded to stiffly. When Snape's eyes drifted over to Fenrir's, both men merely nodded to one another before Snape's image swam out of view.

Hermione sighed tiredly and relaxed against Fenrir, closing her eyes and letting the mirror fall into her lap.

"What a day," she breathed, opening her eyes to look up at Fenrir.

He merely smirked at her and leaned down to nuzzle her temple affectionately.

He then stood, pulling her with him and sat her on her feet.

"Off to bed with you," he commanded softly, smiling at her.

Hermione huffed at the command, but acquiesced without a fight, squeaking when he gave her lovely bottom a farewell tap as she walked past him.

He watched her hips sway as she walked, a lecherous smile stretching his lips, remembering that particular bottom bare not too long ago.

As soon as the door to Hermione's room clicked closed behind her, Fenrir slumped, and looked down at his raging hard on. He whined pitifully, scrunching up his fists at the discomfort. It took all the minuscule stores of self control he had not to yank his pants down and command her to suck him dry. He would give her that luxury til she was ready.

He looked up at the door and sighed. All bitches, animal or human, were teases. They never came to the men without a fight. They certainly liked to take their bloody time.

Fenrir looked down at his erection which was straining against his pants. He had a feeling he was going to be perpetually horny for quite a while to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance   
Chapter 13

'Caught in the Act'  
.

Now that the potion was complete, Hermione found herself with copious amounts of free time to do pretty much whatever she wanted. Thankfully, all of her books provided endless amounts of entertainment for her, but there were times when Hermione needed a break from reading.

Yes, Hermione Granger, bookworm and workaholic did indeed need to do other things than read.

It was then that she came up with the idea of selective Animagus transformations. She had always wondered why she had to choose between a full animal form and a full human form. Why couldn't she change between both with only certain traits changing?

Understandably, the process would be gruelling, and she would have to be careful not to change anything that would result in it becoming life threatening. For example, she might accidentally change her human heart into her animal heart, and thus die from inadequate circulation. On top of this she would have to think about bone and muscle structure, and how and when she would have to change the structures to fit in her human form.

And then there was the issue of the changes possibly becoming permanent. Essentially, an Animagus is the result of a large scale transformation without the aid of a wand or incantation. The problem with this was that, with Hermione remaining human, her new features might become permanent due to the magic finding a fault with the transformation, and instantly binding to her. She would have to be extremely careful to change and would need to keep the magic separate as a whole on the particular place she wished to transform.

This was much more complicated than a full scale transformation because, during a full scale transformation, she didn't have to concentrate on certain areas of her body. All she had to do was trigger the change and make sure that her magic didn't bind and leave her as an animal for the rest of her life. Simple really.

The next dilemma was finding a body part to change that could possibly be left as an animal part if it did indeed become permanent. Any extremities were instantly crossed off her list. She didn't need paws or a tail for the rest of her life. Anything below her neck was crossed off.

Next was her hair. There was no way she was going to walk around for the rest of her life with spiky short red hair that stood up in all directions. She would look like she had been heavily electrocuted! Her ears couldn't be used either unless she wanted huge pointed ones with white fur on the inside. Her eyes and nose were the next things to go. She couldn't risk going blind if she made a mistake, and she didn't want a black, wet stub of a nose either.

The only thing left were her teeth. Hermione had heavily contemplated this fact. She had been teased all through her schooling career because of her bucked teeth. It had been quite nice the last few years having straight, normal sized teeth due to her being hexed in fourth year. Now she was about to go and jeopardize her nice smile again.

Hermione sighed heavily. It was all in the name of science, Hermione debated with herself. Well... all in the name of magical theory, really. There was no such thing as science in the magical world.

And so here Hermione was, meditating heavily, searching her mind for the flouncing maned wolf that was pacing within its mental cage. It keened at her, batting at the cage bars with a black paw, begging to be released.

Hermione smiled warmly at her wolf and bent to place a hand through the bars.

"I can't let you out today," she murmured to the animal, stroking through its fur. "I'm testing a theory, and I'm going to need your cooperation."

The wolf keened at her again, batting its head against her hand so she would continue patting it.

"When I open the door," Hermione continued, tugging at the wolf's ear lightly to get its attention once again, "you can't come out. I promise if you cooperate I will let you out later. Just stay in the cage."

The wolf stayed silent, but pressed its cold, wet nose to her palm in a sign that it had understood her.

Hermione took a deep breath and stood, rounding the side of the cage to where the locked door was located. Slowly, gathering her courage, Hermione unlocked the door and it swung open. The wolf stayed in the cage but huddled in the corner, looking at Hermione with glittering black eyes. Hermione was sure it could feel the pull as well.

Hermione felt a tug at her consciousness, almost like a magnet pulling her inside the cage. This happened every transformation, the need to merge with her wolf. Her two forms would draw to each other, meeting at the opening of the cage, and Hermione's mind would be transferred to that of a wolf, and her human form would subsequently be pushed in the cage with her wolf form freed.

Both forms fought the pull and merely crouched at opposite ends of the cage, each one staring hard into the other's eyes. It was at that point that Hermione's consciousness flared outwards towards her wolf form.

She gasped as she became aware of both bodies simultaneously. It was a strange sensation, being aware of eight appendages instead of four. Being aware of two brains controlling two different bodies, but with one spirit linking them together, making them one.

She pushed past the overwhelming sensations and got down to business. She concentrated hard on both sets of teeth, and let her magical energy flow, triggering the small change. She could feel a slight pinch in her jaw, her gums tingling as her canines elongated and pointed.

Unfortunately, at that particular moment, a voice called out to her.

"What are you doing, runt?"

Hermione felt her mind being ripped away from the cage, her wolf yelping at her in panic. She clung to the bars only for them to dissolve around her fingers and disappear into a swirl of smoke, blending back into the dark recesses of her mind.

She opened her eyes with a snap, finding herself lying flat on the floor with a large werewolf looking down on her, his head tilted to the side in curiosity. She stared up at him for a few seconds, trying to process why everything had crumbled around her so fast.

It didn't take long for her eyes to narrow at him and for her to jump to her feet and start pacing around the room, a single hand scrunched up in front of her mouth in an attempt to not screech and yell like an overindulged child.

Anger welled up within her, bubbling like boiling water in an over-filled pot. Sooner or later it would spill out the sides and burn someone's hands.

Hermione's hair crackled and frizzed with her anger, currents of magical energy flowing through each strand.

It didn't take long before she boiled, and her anger burst out of her verbally. She rounded on him, pointing at him accusingly and shrieking, "I am _astounded_ by the sheer bad luck that seems to reverberate around you! How is it _remotely possible_ that you chose this _particular_ time to come and break my _effing_ concentration? Couldn't you see that I was meditating, or did you just not _think_ before you decided to come and distract me!"

Hermione paused, raising her clenched fists to her hair and let out a frustrated growl.

Every time she spoke she could feel her tongue brush against her now sharp and elongated canines, sometimes even going as far as to nick the strong muscle against one of the sharp points when pronouncing particular words.

" _Seriously_?" she hissed, " _now_ of all times! How is that even _possible!_ You could have come and talked to me at any point in the day. And you just had to come and distract me _now!_ "

She struggled for words after that, her fingers flexing to create claws against her temples. The only thing that escaped her mouth before Fenrir pinned her underneath him was a violent, " _fuck!_ "

It was at that point that she was unceremoniously forced to the floor. She was too angry to care when Fenrir snarled at her, pinning her to the floor with his bulk.

"Don't disrespect me, girl," Fenrir snarled, his teeth bared at her, his eyes wild with male dominance.

"Fuck you!" Hermione spat back at him with such vehemence that Fenrir was momentarily taken aback. She pushed him off of her, scrambled to her feet, and made her way to the bathroom, not bothering to close the door behind her.

Fenrir shook his head to clear it and snarled, following the girl, intent on making her submit to him once again. The girl needed to be reminded of her place.

That plan, however, was not carried out when he saw her reflection in the mirror. She was panting heavily, in what seemed was panic, as she frantically prodded at a set of defined canines that had grown out of the top of her jaw. They weren't as long as a vampire's, but they were longer than the rest of her teeth by four millimetres or so.

Fenrir stared at her for a few seconds in shock before he crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe.

He frowned at her through her reflection and asked in disbelief, "that's what you were chucking a hissy fit about?"

Hermione's eyes snapped to his and she hissed frantically, "yes!

Fenrir's eyebrows drew up in further disbelief, and his mouth hung open, staring at her as if he couldn't believe what he saw.

Finally he rumbled, exasperation lacing his voice, "you really are a drama queen."

"A drama queen?" Hermione squeaked, rounding on him, "I have fangs!"

"And?" Fenrir questioned.

Hermione blinked at him. "I have fangs! How can you not see my point? Everyone's going to think I'm a-"

"A what?" Fenrir interrupted, "a freak?"

It was at that point that Fenrir pushed himself off the doorframe, his arms dropping to his sides as he advanced on her. Hermione gazed at him questioningly, but she did not shrink from him. She never did anymore.

"Yes, they will judge you," he spat, cornering her against the basin as his hands gripped the porcelain around her, "every single _normal_ wizard will. Why do you think I hate them so much? Werewolves will never judge you because of this, because they are just as much a _freak_ as you are. If wizards are going to extricate you because of your pearly whites, can you image how they treat those of my kind?"

He then pulled back from her and scowled, something akin to disappointment lacing his features. "You have _nothing_ to complain about."

It was then that he walked from the room.

Hermione sank to the floor, licking her lips as she contemplated Fenrir's words. It didn't take her long to conclude that he was right...about everything.

Who was she to care about what people thought about her? And why should she give the people who judged her a second thought, let alone a first? They were just shallow, not worth her time... right?

Hermione sighed. She had always striven to gain people's approval, apart from those that she simply didn't like, but it was in her nature to make people try to like her. In her muggle school, the children thought she was a freak, and so she tried exceptionally hard to make friends. It only resulted in the vindictive kids in her year to use her for her talents and play cruel pranks on her. Often she had been brought to tears. It was after that that she sought refuge in her teachers. They would often sympathise with her, though they knew there was something strange about her, but they were never outwardly mean to her. She soon learned that if she did well academically, she would gain more praise from her teachers.

And so it went. She didn't make friends, but she gained some level of acceptance through her studies. If she did well, she was recognised, and that made her happy.

This carried on through her schooling career at Hogwarts. At first, she didn't make friends, and she only did when she got caught in a girl's lavatory and was threatened with bodily harm by a particularly stupid mountain troll. It was quite pitiful really. She could only make friends if they shared a potentially life threatening experience together.

It was at that point that she questioned if her friendships were really friendships at all. Would she be friends with the boys by choice if she hadn't been in the girl's lavatory that fateful Halloween night?

She highly doubted it. The boys didn't have the same drive that she did. They both loved Quidditch, something she despised with a passion. Both used her for her brains, more often than not getting her to do their work for them. Harry was a little better than Ron in this department, but not by much.

But there were redeemable qualities that salvaged their friendship through the years. She liked the boys for who they were, despite their aggravating quirks, and still missed them from time to time. But now things were different. She wasn't drawn to them by loyalty or a need to keep the only friends she had close.

Now all she felt was indifference. If she didn't ever see them again then she wouldn't feel particularly sad. If she did see them again, then she would hug them and ask them how they were, but she wouldn't be overjoyed. She probably wouldn't kiss them on the cheek like she might have done eight or so months ago. She wouldn't burst into tears out of joy at seeing their faces again.

Hermione sighed, bringing herself out of her thoughts. Her brain was hurting her. This was too much information to recognize all in one go.

It was strange, having such a personality revamp in such a short time. Five minutes ago, she wanted to be a normal witch who would go to a university as soon as Voldemort was killed. Maybe, have a few kids that went to Hogwarts while her husband worked at the Ministry with her.

And then Fenrir had to go and slap reality in her face.

It was with a small pang of relief that Hermione realised she didn't want that anymore.

She didn't want a normal life. She didn't want to work for the Ministry of Magic, or have a doting husband, or children that went to Hogwarts. She wanted to work with people that wouldn't judge her, she wanted a mate, not a husband, and she wanted pups that went to a smaller, less prejudiced school where she could possibly teach.

She wanted Fenrir in her life. Permanently.

She wanted him to be her life partner; her mate, her husband.

She loved him.

She groaned as her head gave a particularly painful throb. This really was too much. First, she finally figures out how to do selective Animagus transformation, nearly completes it, but is then interrupted, yells at her love interest for turning up at the wrong time, gets her morals questioned, and comes to large scale personal revelations, both of which are life altering!

Hermione slumped to the floor, curling up in a loose ball, and resting her temple against the cool tile of the bathroom floor. She lay there, letting her mind fall blank for a few seconds.

Unfortunately, her peace didn't last for long. Suddenly her eyes snapped open in horror. She had shouted at Fenrir for practically no reason! And he had merely snapped at her in response. He hadn't dominated her, or bit her. He merely boxed her in so she couldn't run, and gave her the lecture of her life.

Shame welled up in her belly.

She had acted like a child, and in the process been rude to Fenrir. By the looks of it, she brought up bad memories for him as well. She had brought up the subject of wizarding prejudices, unthinking of how he had been subjected to them for most of his life. She really must have looked like a petulant child, complaining about how her teeth would receive funny looks when he was extricated from society for over two centuries.

She really felt horrible now.

The first thing she had to do was apologize, and from there she would do whatever she could to make it up to him. Her behaviour was unacceptable and she would redeem herself. She stood, and strode purposefully from the bathroom, only to stop in the doorway when she caught sight of the imposing werewolf drinking a whiskey, staring into the ever existent fire in the hearth.

Upon seeing him, Hermione felt her drive flee her. No longer was she fearless and determined to make it up to him. Now, she just felt shamed and bashful. She resisted the urge to nudge her toe into the ground and duck her head.

She took a breath against her rising nervousness, and blocked out her minds negative thoughts of him possibly lashing out at her, or even worse, rejecting her.

She wouldn't find out how he would react until she did something, right? And the best thing to do now was apologize, and no amount of nervousness was going to stop her.

She padded her way over to him; the only sign of inner turmoil within her was the constant nibbling of her lower lip, and her right hand rubbing her left arm almost in a comforting gesture.

He didn't look at her as she stopped in front of him, and she didn't expect him to.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, inaudible to human ears, "my behaviour was inexcusable and I understand if you do not wish to talk to me."

She cleared her throat and continued with a stronger voice. "I was wrong to shout at you. It was bad luck that you talked to me when you did, and I should have warned you not to before I tried to transform. It was bad judgement on my part and my fault entirely. I apologize for shouting at you."

Only when his eyes snapped to hers did she falter. It was much easier to apologize to him when he wasn't gazing at her with such reproach.

"I'm so sorry," she finished pitifully, dropping her eyes from his.

She was about to walk from the room when his low rumble caught her attention.

"Come here."

Hermione's head snapped up and landed on his outstretched hand. She'd be lying if she said that she didn't rush into his arms.

She did, and cuddled into his side as he ran clawed fingers through her untamed hair. She nuzzled his bare chest and mumbled a series of apologies into his skin, kissing it in regular intervals. Finally, she nuzzled his temple and received a low rumble, almost like a purr, from Fenrir.

And so she continued, relishing in the welcome vibrations in his chest. The sound was soothing to her.

When she kissed his cheek his gaze snapped to hers. She watched his eyes soften as he gazed upon her, leaning down to nuzzle her temple in return. Hermione smiled and apologized once again.

"Mm," he hummed in response, burying his head into her wild mane of hair and inhaling deeply, "what were you trying to do before I interrupted you?"

"I had an idea," she replied, her voice returning to an excited hum as she relayed her theory about selective Animagus transformations. He snickered when she mumbled how the change to her teeth was probably permanent.

"Good," he rumbled, "serves you right for caring what others think about you."

Instead of being offended by his slightly vengeful remark, Hermione chortled and agreed with him.

Her teeth would be a daily reminder to stay true to who she was, and society be damned if other people didn't like her. They could go shove their wands up their arses for all she cared.

She was Hermione Granger, bookworm and workaholic, and she was damn proud of it. Thanks to Fenrir.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance   
Chapter 14

'Touch Me'  
.

Dinnertime came and Fenrir, as usual, presented a slab of meat for Hermione to cook him. He watched her work with curious eyes.

Something was different about her. The way she moved, the way she carried herself, it was more self assured, more confident.

He liked it. By the looks of it, she had changed for the better.

When she set the steaming plate of food in front of him, Fenrir smiled widely. It was perfect, just the right pinkness in the meat, the blood dribbling out of the tender flesh in a pink wash around the rim of the porcelain plate. She had popped a few potatoes on the side, as well as some carrots – the only vegetable he would even touch – and beamed proudly when he gobbled the meal up with gusto.

"Mm," he hummed through a mouthful of tender meat, "much better than when you first started cooking for me."

"You mean when you started forcing me to wait on you," Hermione replied, humour evident in her sparking amber eyes and cheeky smirk.

Fenrir growled at her, though it was more of a teasing warning. If she bit him, he would bite back.

She simply gave him a sweet smile in return, as if she were an innocent newborn babe. Fenrir smirked. The little chit was anything but innocent.

-0-0-0-0-

Hermione woke up later that night by a frustrated growl.

"Get up, runt!" Fenrir rumbled, shaking her shoulder roughly.

Hermione's head lifted off the pillow, squinting through half closed eyelids and pinched, raised eyebrows.

"Wass' goin' on, Fener?" Hermione mumbled, not even bothering to use his full name as her indolence was so thick.

"Get up," was the simple, gruff response she received.

Hermione's head hit the pillow heavily as she groaned in frustration. Why wouldn't he just let her sleep? How could he be so cruel as to wake her up in the middle of the night? Did the man have a death wish?

"Why?" she moaned, though she complied with his demand and sat up, pulling the covers over her legs and swinging from the bed with an unladylike grunt.

She stumbled a little when Fenrir's large hand grasped her own and tugged her along behind him. Hermione dimly registered his annoyed huff before she felt the ground leave her feet. She squeaked, vertigo setting in so suddenly that her eyes popped to full wideness, and her mind cleared of all previous sleep induced haziness.

"Fenrir?" she asked her voice clearer now, "what's going on?"

He didn't answer her, and all too soon she was dropped. Literally.

She landed on something soft, a gasp escaping her lips in surprise at Fenrir letting her go so unceremoniously.

"You're sleeping with me, runt."

Hermione's eyes widened

"What?" she squeaked in panic, scrambling into a sitting position, her muscles tense.

A few anxious seconds passed and Fenrir let out a bark of laughter as he realised how she had taken that comment. "No, I'm not going to _sleep_ with you, little Hermione."

He sat on the edge of the bed, his being a wolf allowing him better vision at night time. He could see her worried expression turn into one of relief. He pushed down the growing need to growl at her. Didn't she _want_ to sleep with him? What happened to the wanton little chit he had writhing underneath his ministrations a few days ago?

"You are simply going to sleep with me, in my bed."

"Oh," Hermione murmured.

"Lie down," Fenrir commanded softly, his voice gentle.

Hermione did, and tucked herself underneath his covers. She ran her fingers atop them, relishing in the silky feeling beneath her fingertips. Almost like fur.

_Fur._

This was a fur pelt.

"What animal does this belong to?" she asked, honestly curious, and not the least bit revolted despite her previous vehemence against anything that was a true fur product.

Fenrir lay down beside her before he answered. "The one you're touching belongs to a buck I brought down. Not sure what breed."

"Hm," Hermione hummed in thought. _It was so soft._

He pulled her against him, her back to his chest. She snuggled closer to him, relishing in his unnatural warmth.

"Do werewolves ever get cold?" she asked, "or does your body temperature stave that off?"

"No, we feel the cold just like everyone else does," he answered, "we can merely live in colder conditions because we can maintain homeostasis more easily due to our regenerative abilities. Our range of maintaining homeostasis is larger than that of a normal wizard's and so we can fluctuate in temperature more easily than you can. The only issue is if we become too cold, we are just as susceptible to hypothermia as normal wizards are. Anything too below normal body temperature, and we become ill."

Hermione was surprised by his answer, but what astounded her the most was his in-depth understanding of biology. She would be lying if she denied thinking that he didn't even know what homeostasis was.

Instead of voicing her thoughts, Hermione merely fired another question. "If you can feel the cold, then why do you walk around with no shirt on?"

Fenrir pressed his face into her hair and inhaled heavily before answering, "Just because I can feel the cold, doesn't necessarily mean that I feel the cold often. I wear no shirt because I stay warm if I am active. The friction when I move my muscles causes heat and the rapid regeneration of my cells cause even more so. It's only when I am inert that I feel the cold. I only ever remember shivering when I have been sleeping and that is because I have not been moving. We can warm up more rapidly than other wizards. Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded.

Honestly, she was astounded that he had given her so much information so freely.

"Thank you for telling me this," she murmured softly.

He rumbled low in his chest in response, almost a purr. The sound relaxed her and she settled against his chest like a rag doll.

It was with the sounds of his low rumbles, and the feeling of being wrapped in Fenrir's arms, that Hermione finally fell asleep once again.

-0-0-0-0-

Fenrir left for another three weeks, and during that time Hermione missed him dearly. With the potion being finished, she had plenty of free time. So much, in fact, that Hermione struggled not to become bored. Books only got her so far.

The selective Animagus transformations became easier. As predicted, her teeth stayed elongated and pointed. She got used to it quickly, though it took a few days to realise that her speech would be a little lisped now because, unless she wanted to mutilate her tongue, she couldn't pronounce certain sounds. Needless to say, Fenrir found this endlessly amusing and often tricked her into saying particularly complicated words just to see her become frustrated.

Luckily, she soon figured out how to talk as normally as possible with long, pointed teeth.

She also soon learned that her teeth wouldn't change in full Animagus form either. After she realised that she had swapped teeth with her Animagus form, she had been worried that she would have human canines when she was a wolf. This wasn't the case. It seemed that with binding her magic to the new teeth, both forms, when in her mental hypnosis state, physically didn't have canines. It seemed that her canines were now a grey area, and with the loss of visible proof of her canines when she meditated, she wasn't allowed to physically alter them. It was quite interesting really.

In her free time, Hermione played around with the selective Animagus transformation and, with a lot of studies and patience, Hermione finally figured out how to do it without so much risk. Now, she could easily change small attributes such as her fingernails, eye colour, ears, etcetera. Fenrir had gone into hysterics one day when he had popped in for a visit and found her sitting there with an afro of spiky flaming red hair.

"Even in your Animagus form, your hair is uncontrollable," he had chortled.

Hermione had scowled at him, but said nothing, knowing he had a tactile fascination with her hair since he took every possible opportunity presented to him to run his fingers through her unruly mane.

Luckily he didn't come home five minutes earlier. She was sure he would have had belly aches from laughing so hard at the sight of the white beard that had grown on her face along with the red hair atop her head. Thankfully, that feature wasn't permanent.

He popped in for visits every now and then, but they would be short, ten minutes at most. Every time he left Hermione would feel the familiar aches in her belly that returned in his absence.

By the end of the third week, Hermione was going stir crazy. Snape didn't come around anymore, except once a week to bring groceries and to check that she was alright. She would always tell him she was. He didn't need any more worries than he already had.

She seriously contemplated returning to the woods in her Animagus form, just so she could do something different. Death Eater's be damned, she couldn't survive just sitting around reading and growing spiky red hair all day. It was enough to make anyone bonkers.

Friday of the fourth week came, and Hermione found herself once again sitting on the couch reading.

Naturally, it was a joyous occasion when she heard the doorknob being turned and saw Fenrir standing in the doorway, brushing snow from his hair and shoulders.

Hermione jumped from the couch, dropping the book she had been reading previously on one of the cushions, and rushed over to him. It was only a few seconds later when Fenrir found himself with an armful of a frizzy haired witch, who had launched herself in his direction, and who seemed intent on squeezing the life out of him.

"Missed me, did you?" he rumbled quietly, leaning down to nuzzle her temple affectionately.

"M-hm," Hermione hummed, nuzzling his chest in return, and placing a few kisses along his pecks since she couldn't reach any higher without pulling him down to her.

"I was going stir crazy," she explained, her voice muffled by his chest. She then pulled away a little, but only enough so that she could gaze up at him with those big, shining amber eyes. "It's horrible living on your own and only having a few people coming to visit once or twice a week. I seriously contemplated breaking the rules and just going for a walk in the forest to do something different. I think I would have died of boredom if I didn't see someone soon."

"Oh," Fenrir exclaimed in mock hurt, "so it wasn't that you were happy to see me specifically. You were just happy to see someone at all!"

He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her to his warm chest, and smirked down at her, humour twinkling in his eyes.

"You don't hug and kiss everyone that comes through that door, do you?" he asked, still humorous, but with an underlying sense of possessiveness that made Hermione's insides writhe with dirty pleasure.

Hermione chortled, and shook her head. "Only those that I'm exceptionally happy to see."

Fenrir hummed, the low vibrations massaging Hermione's chest. He pulled her closer, and leaned down to nuzzle her neck, nipping it affectionately a few times. "And are you exceptionally happy to see me, little Hermione?"

Hermione arched her head to the right, smiling warmly and murmured, "I'm always happy to see you, Fenrir."

He pulled away from her neck, having demonstrated his dominance over her once again, and she slipped out of his arms, intent on tidying the mess that she had left the cabin in the last few days.

She squeaked when she felt a large arm wrap around her waist, and a hot breath on her neck.

"Fenrir?"

"You're an awful tease, Hermione," Fenrir rumbled in her ear, his hot breath shifting a few loose strands of her frizzy hair, "Telling me you're happy to see me, and then walking away. I've been happy to see you for over a month."

It was at that moment that Hermione felt the true extent of Fenrir's 'happiness'. One hand reached down, and pushed her hip bone so that her whole form was moulded into his. There, on her lower back, was a throbbing hardness; a large one by the feel of it.

Hermione's mouth dropped open as a heat in her belly ignited, swirling around her being like a wildfire. Instinctually, Hermione pressed her thighs together, the small amount of friction easing the tight knot that had formed in her abdomen, but only a little. She knew that soon, it wouldn't be enough.

Suddenly Fenrir latched onto the mark at her neck, holding her in place with his teeth, and wrapped his arm tighter around her, pulling her to his chest so that she wouldn't be able to move. He had effectively boxed her in, dominating her. Hermione's excitement flared. He was the alpha male, the dominant, and she loved every minute that he showered his attentions on her.

The hand that had been resting on her hip dropped to cup her sex, further claiming and dominating her.

Hermione's head fell to the side with a ragged groan as he took his first gulp of fresh blood. At the same time he pressed his hips against her and pulled back, only to return again. Slowly, he humped her, and drank from her greedily. Never in her life had Hermione felt so controlled, or so utterly excited.

Not a few seconds later, Hermione felt Fenrir remove his hand from her sex, and she sobbed brokenly. The heat in her belly flared angrily, and the knot tightened til she swore she would get pelvic cramps.

She felt the very same hand stop at the front of her jeans, and fumble with the button. He gurgled a frustrated growl, taking another gulp as her blood filled his hot mouth. With a snarl, he let go of her neck, allowing the blood to slide down her chest in a red, wet tendril, and undid the button on her jeans, the distinct snap of fabric allowing Hermione to determine that he had completely ripped off the button in his haste.

A ragged gasp was ripped from Hermione's lips as his hand delved into the front of her jeans roughly, pushed her panties aside unceremoniously, and parted her folds with his knuckles. She hissed, her knees becoming wobbly, as she reached up with her hand and wound it around his neck whilst he lapped at her mark, allowing the wound to clot once more.

"I'm tired of being a gentleman," he growled in her ear, thrusting his hips against her roughly to reinforce his words. Hermione gasped.

It was then, at that moment, that she felt his knuckle brush against her clit. Hermione's knees buckled slightly, and it took all her willpower to focus on keeping herself upright.

He brushed against her again, this time harder, and Hermione released a moan of need. He was teasing her, and the result was making her core pulse and become prime with need.

It didn't come as a surprise when he removed his hand from the front of her jeans, but Hermione sobbed brokenly anyways.

"Please," she begged.

"Please, what, little Hermione?" he growled. "You've left me to satisfy myself for over a month, little girl."

He nipped the tender skin behind her ear before he spoke again, "I've been touching myself every night due to your teasing. The way you walk, the way you flick your hair behind your ear, the blatantly obvious looks of yearning you send in my direction whenever I am in close proximity to you. It's been torture."

He raised his head to speak right in her ear, his hot breath fanning over her in ragged gasps, " _and yet you still won't touch me_."

It was at that moment that he released her, spinning her around with a hard yank to her upper arm and stalked towards her. Hermione scrambled away, not in fright, but with avid anticipation at the possibilities of what he was going to do to her next. It wasn't three steps backwards before Hermione felt her back pressed into a wall, and a large werewolf bearing down on her with a lust fuelled snarl.

Hermione's breath was being drawn from her in ragged gasps. Fenrir had boxed her in again, his hands resting against the wall beside her head, his claws grating little tears in the paint on the wall as he slowly arched his fingers and curled them into fists. His breathing was equally ragged, his eyes wild and alight with lust, his lips pulled back in a snarl.

Hermione wanted to see the bunched muscles of his arms and shoulders. She wanted to see the smooth tanned hide of his skin ripple as each muscle stretched and tensed with each movement. Slowly, she reached up, grasped the lapels of his black trench coat, and pushed them back, waiting impatiently for his arms to drop from beside her head so that she could push it from his arms as well. As soon as she had removed the concealing garment from his person, she threw it, hardly caring where it landed.

As soon as she turned back to him, her hands reached out, touching the hard planes of his abdomen, greedily taking him in, her eyes engraining the image of his perfectly built body into her head.

One of Fenrir's hands came up to rest on the wall beside her head again, his head tipping forward with a low groan as Hermione continued her exploration of his body.

She took his slumped position as an opportunity to reach up and hook her arms around his neck, crashing her mouth to his. Fenrir stood to his full height out of shock from her sudden onslaught, and Hermione went with him, her feet leaving the floor. His hands came to grasp her around her waist and push her against the wall.

As soon as she recovered, he plunged his tongue deep into her mouth, questing along the warm, wet cavern. He groaned with need once again, his arms tightening around her possessively, and pushed his raging erection against her. Hermione gasped into his mouth and strained as best she could against him to give him the friction he wanted.

It was at that moment that she was roughly deposited on the ground; their mouths wrenched apart as he stood to his full height and towered over her.

"Touch me," he ordered with a low growl.

Hermione immediately fell to her knees, licking her lips in anticipation.

Before, she might have found his behaviour utterly revolting and somewhat offensive to her feminist views. Now, she could really care less. He was possessive to the point where it was dangerous if other men looked at her for too long, but Hermione couldn't find it within herself to think that such behaviour was bad. She enjoyed his dangerous possessiveness, and wanted more of it. She wanted to relinquish some control to instead be controlled by another. She was always the dominant one in the group, the one who took care of things, the one with responsibility. Now, she just wanted to lose herself in another, to be told what to do. She found she wanted that a lot recently.

There was something so utterly erotic of undoing the bindings to someone's pants. Undoing the belt buckle, the metallic click, the slick sound of the leather being pulled through the keepers. Unfastening the button, the sound of the circle of metal being pulled through the button hole. Pulling down the zipper, the metallic hum as the zipper parted each and every one of those little nubs, closer, closer, til it finally reached the bottom. Or there were more simple pants, some that could merely be tugged down in a frantic haste once the drawstrings were loosened.

Hermione looked upon the sight before her. Fenrir's zipper had been pulled down, the waist line of his pants parted in a wide V. She should have known he would go commando. He didn't like clothes. She saw his belly heave with each breath, watched as his chest expanded and deflated with every ragged gasp for air that was pulled through his delicious, kiss swelled lips. His mouth hung open, his eyes trained down on her like a seasoned predator watching its prey, unmoving, endlessly hungry.

Their eyes met, and stayed locked together. Both watched each other's passion filled features as Hermione slowly reached up and peeled the waistline of Fenrir's pants down. Hermione's eyes only dropped from his when she saw something flesh coloured bounce in her peripheral vision.

His erection was... 'in proportion to his body,' was the only way Hermione could put it without making it seem like the sheer size would cleave her in half. He was a large man, larger than most, and so it seemed almost natural that his organ would be in proportion to his body mass. That didn't stop her from gulping nervously.

His cock stood, rigid and pulsing, the head purple with need. She could see arching veins winding their way up the shaft.

She reached out and grasped it, her eyes flying to his face when he hissed, before she lowered them again. Slowly, she squeezed him, caressed him, the silky skin of his shaft moving over the insistent hardness underneath.

"Now, witch," he commanded, " _do it now_! Don't tease me!"

The words were wrenched from his lips with such need that Hermione had little choice but to lean forward and take him in her mouth. Fenrir's head tipped back with a growl, his hand tangling in her frizzy mane, and pressed her further onto him. Hermione sucked the head hard, before plunging down onto him til the head hit the back of her throat, and releasing him from her mouth.

He hissed as the air in the room hit his wet cock, and his hips strained forward towards her. She stroked him languidly and watched as a drop of pre-cum formed at the tip. She leaned forward once more and dipped her tongue in the slit. He tasted as expected. Bitter, like aspirin, but surprisingly enjoyable compared to the few others she had tasted.

She plunged head down onto him, drawing up, sucking hard, and laving him with her tongue before plunging onto him once more. She worked quickly now, insistent, her hot, wet mouth engulfing him, sucking him further into her heat, before pulling back, her lips dragging over him, and then returning, taking him deeper than before.

Her free hand moved up and cupped his balls, rolling them gently between her fingertips. Fenrir's head shot up, his eyes wide with pleasure. His hand, which was fisted tightly in her hair, pushed her onto him more roughly, causing the head of his cock to hit the back of her throat.

"Fuck!" he groaned as he pulled on her hair roughly, silently commanding her to speed up her ministrations.

Hermione's head bobbed on him, sucking him into her mouth greedily. She was sodden with desire, his own violently lusty reaction to her ministrations sending jolts of excitement to her core. Her knickers were soaked.

Suddenly, Fenrir stiffened, his hips surging into her whilst his hand pressed her head even farther onto him. A guttural grunt escaped his lips and his hot seed was ripped from his being in hot spurts, the warm, creamy liquid filling Hermione's mouth and throat. She pulled back as far as she could so she could suck on the head as he came, but Fenrir wouldn't let her get far. He growled down at her through his orgasmic haze, and yanked on her hair to stay where she was. It was then that she learnt that werewolves came for a much longer time, and in larger amounts. It didn't take long for her mouth to be full of his seed, the creamy fluid leaking out the corners as he continued to grunt and growl through his orgasm.

She held his thick cum in her mouth as she released his deflating cock. Their eyes locked, and Hermione swallowed, arching her head back so that he could see its movement down her oesophagus. He looked upon her with barely concealed male pride. She knew it gave men pleasure when they saw their woman swallowing their seed, just as it gave most women pleasure knowing that their men liked the way they tasted. She then, with slow deliberation, brought a finger up, and swiped the split remnants of his release onto the tip. She brought it into her hot mouth, and sucked the appendage of his come, and then released it with a small pop.

Calmly, she lowered her eyes once more. Without a single ounce of embarrassment, Hermione tucked his flaccid cock back into his pants and pulled them up so that they were sitting comfortably on his hips. She didn't bother with the bindings. She knew he disliked the restrictions of clothing, and whilst she didn't want him to walk around naked, she would allow him to walk around with unfastened pants.

He growled down at her, and Hermione barely had enough time to react with a widening of her eyes before he roughly grasped her up by her arm, pulled her into a standing position, and crushed her against the wall. He stood before her, amber meeting grey briefly before he grasped her pyjama top and yanked it apart, the buttons flying in all directions.

She had decided that she would have a lazy day. She didn't bother to change from her pyjamas, and instead, put them back on after she had showered in the morning.

Hermione's bare breasts were revealed, the nipples hardened with arousal. A ragged gasp was drawn from deep within her when Fenrir's head dipped and took a rosy nipple in his mouth, licking it, sucking it, nipping it. He pulled her to him tightly and rumbled deep within his chest as he alternated treatments on both breasts til the nipples were pink and peaked from his ministrations.

At length, he pulled away, ripping the shirt from her shoulders completely, and pulled her forward with two fingers hooked in the hem of her pyjama pants. It wasn't long before he yanked them from her as well. He kneeled and peeled her panties from her legs, grasping her calves so that she would step out of them.

It then came as a surprise when Fenrir led her over to the front door.

Surely he wasn't leading her outside _naked_?

"Grasp the top of the frame," he commanded with a growl.

She did, her brows furrowed in confusion. What now?

She squeaked when Fenrir picked her up and pressed her against the wall. In her surprise, Hermione had let go of the doorframe.

"Don't let it go!" he snarled.

Hermione hastily returned to gripping the cool wood, her eyes wide. With a grunt of need, Fenrir pinned her to the wall with his body, his arms releasing her waist to snake underneath her knees before he pulled away, simply holding her up with his forearms, her legs splayed before him, her back resting against the cool timber of the wall.

A ragged gasp was drawn from Hermione's lips when Fenrir suddenly launched her into the air and hooked her legs over his shoulders. Hermione's head brushed against the ceiling, and she pressed her free hand palm-up onto the white paint.

Now Hermione realised why he had told her to grasp the doorframe: for balance.

Not a second later, he buried his face into her folds. His hot, wet tongue lapped at her roughly, possessing her flesh, drawing more of her sweet essence out of her. His mouth was pressed to her hard, his tongue hot and insistent, plunging into her sodden womanhood.

Hermione's head was spinning, both from vertigo and the debilitating lust that had consumed her prone form. Mewls and moans were being ripped from her being by the sheer force of the werewolf's onslaught on her.

Hermione was so close, and she willed him to where she needed him most. Her clit was primed and engorged with need. His tongue swirled around her flesh, hard and insistent, coming dangerously close to her clit before he would drop down again and plunge his tongue into her weeping womanhood, sweeping his tongue around her soft velvety walls. He would then pull back and start the process all over again, and again, and again.

She was so desperate that the hand that was resting on the ceiling dropped and landed on the back of his head, pushing him closer to her, willing him to ease the burning within her abdomen. She felt like she was filled with molten lead. Each limb was burning with agonising rapture, too heavy to move.

And then, at last, Fenrir's warm lips enclosed on her swollen, expectant clit, flicking his tongue over the kernel of flesh in rapid movements. A gasp was torn from Hermione as her muscles tensed expectantly. He sucked hard, and at that moment Hermione froze, her orgasm tearing through her body, wave upon wave of delirious nirvana crushing down on her like the pressure when one was sitting on a deep ocean floor. A howl of ecstasy escaped her as Hermione's muscles finally slackened, and her form twitched and shuddered in rapturous ecstasy. It was all she could do to clutch to the doorframe for dear life.

She felt herself flood onto him and he drank every drop as if it were the sweetest ambrosia. He ensured he caught every single drop.

Hermione had slackened against the wall, her hand relaxing around the doorframe somewhat as she closed her eyes, revelling in the after-effects of yet another fantastic orgasm. Surely it wouldn't be this good every time. It never had been with her limited partners in the past, no matter how few there had been. A dirty smirk tweaked her lips as an errant thought crossed her post-orgasmic haze.

' _Oh well, the only way to find out is to do it again... and again, and again.'_


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance   
Chapter 15

'The Secret's Out'  
.

Rabastan was a very clever man, Hermione determined. It had been nigh on a month and he had already completed making the spell. All they needed now was the essence of the Dark Lord. This was where they ran into a problem. It was kind of hard to get the essence of someone when they were a paranoid thanatophobe. According to all the men, Voldemort didn't leave a single cell lying around in case someone used it against him to bring him down. The man - or lizard - whatever he was, was terrified of death, and did everything he could to reduce the possibility of that outcome.

"What about old school records?" Hermione supplied.

All the men swivelled to look at her curiously. She hardly ever contributed to the meetings, simply because she felt she wasn't qualified to do so. The men had been in this 'business' for far longer than she had. Surely they would know about what to do better than she.

When the men all gave her confused looks, Hermione continued, "I remember Madam Pomfrey drawing blood from me when I first went into the hospital wing so she could do a preliminary check-up on my health. Being a muggleborn, I had no wizarding medical records so she had no idea what issues I might have had. Wasn't the Dark Lord from a muggle orphanage?"

Snape nodded.

"Then you could check for old blood samples," Hermione concluded. "Knowing Madam Pomfrey, she's probably kept all the children's records that passed through the school."

All men nodded and murmured their agreements. Fenrir even went so far as to step out from the shadows in the corner of the room to instead take a seat on the arm of the chair Hermione was sitting on. He gave her a warm smile, one that had looked dangerous not five months ago, and ran his clawed fingers through Hermione's hair.

Hermione smirked. He was staking his claim on her right after she had proven herself. The paranoid git was worried that the other men would suddenly become attracted to her for suggesting something worthwhile. It was kind of cute, in a possessive, unreasonable kind of way.

The meeting continued. Lucius Malfoy ranted about the idiots at the Ministry as usual. And then, also as usual, Snape calmed him down and reminded him why he was protecting those that weren't quite as cunning as he.

"They're too easy to pick off," Lucius ranted, "I'm running out of ways to help them without being found out."

"Help them any way you can," Severus answered.

The rest of the members had nothing interesting to report.

After that, the men convened in the small sitting room and talked about whatever it was that they talked about after the meetings. Narcissa didn't come tonight, so Hermione was not forced to be beaten once again at chess. Her relationship with the Malfoy matriarch was a somewhat tense one.

It was obvious that Narcissa looked down on her because of who her parents were, but there was also an obvious respect that the older woman held for Hermione. Not once did she call her a Mudblood, and Hermione frequently caught her holding her tongue and changing words half way through in their conversations. Hermione was quickly learning that the only reason Narcissa constantly looked like she smelled something bad was because she was rather uptight, and revelled in the old ways. She often saw something that she thought was offensive or distasteful. This is why Hermione tolerated the woman. She pitied her; the inability to move forward in the times was one of the main reasons why Voldemort had risen so quickly into power.

Hermione quickly immersed herself in a book, ignoring the men as they chatted around her. She was dimly aware that reading and ignoring one's guests was technically rude, but had she tried to contribute to the conversation, she was sure it would become more awkward than necessary. There were two options – read a book and risk offending one's fanatical pureblood guests, or contribute to the conversation which would most likely just end up with her embarrassing herself and those around her.

Reading was definitely the better option. Besides, she was really interested in this text she had been reading about modern wizarding medical ailments. They really were odd when you were coming from a muggle background where the strangest ailments were extra limbs or psychological disorders. Wizarding ailments... that was a whole different dimension! Hermione didn't even know where to start!

She was brought out of her reading when a gruff rumble met her ears.

"Move over, runt."

Hermione looked up, and saw Fenrir still sitting on the arm of the chair. She then looked around and noticed that there were no other seats available apart from the chairs that accompanied the old chess set.

She muttered an apology, got up, and moved to go over to the chess table and read in peace. That particular plan was thwarted, however, when Fenrir pulled her down, quite unharmoniously, into his lap. Hermione squeaked, and sent him a wide-eyed look, before she looked around at the other men to see if they had caught her sitting on the werewolf's lap.

Indeed they had, causing Hermione to blush beetroot red.

Snape once again looked revolted. Hermione wasn't surprised. By his reactions in the past, he had caught onto their budding relationship. Obviously he did not approve.

Rabastan and Lucius looked somewhat surprised, but at least they didn't look disapproving. Hermione breathed an internal sigh of relief. They didn't need any strain among them because she and Fenrir had feelings for each other.

Well... because Fenrir lusted after her, and because she had feelings for him...

Rodolphus, on the other hand, was a whole other story. He looked like a perverted old man who had recently come out of a forced celibacy, ready to watch live porn; his lecherous grin was so wide. Hermione felt herself sinking into Fenrir just to get away from the sheer heat of that dirty smile. Her face scrunched up into a grimace.

Ew.

"Well, well, well," Rabastan said, his smirk still in place, "what do we have here. Two little love birds?"

Fenrir growled at him, his grip on Hermione tightening protectively.

Luckily - or unluckily, depending on how you look at it - Snape's next words cut Rabastan off from his path.

"Albus is going to kill me," he muttered. "he made me swear to protect you, and now, here you are, in the arms of Fenrir Greyback."

Fenrir snapped, his temper flaring. Had Hermione not been sitting on him, she was sure he would have leapt out of his seat and torn a strip off of Snape, literally.

"Dumbledore has no claim over her!" Fenrir snarled, his grip tightening as if Hermione would be ripped from him at any second.

The whole room fell silent apart from Fenrir's heavy, warning snarls. His eyes flitted around the room, landing on each of the men with a crazed, cornered, wild animal look in them. It was at that moment that Hermione realised that Snape's words had triggered his protective instincts. Snape had issued a challenge to one of Fenrir's belongings, and had insinuated that Hermione would be taken away. Fenrir, having much more acute animal instincts, naturally fought for what was his.

"Ssh," Hermione soothed quietly, much too quiet for the other men to hear, rubbing his bare forearm soothingly. Fenrir relaxed minutely, and his growls quietened, but didn't stop. Hermione doubted it would til all the other men, the other _threats_ , left. She didn't begrudge him that.

Hermione looked up and met Snape's piercing black eyes.

"You are willing to continue on this road, Granger?" Snape asked quietly, his eyes boring into hers as if searching her very soul.

Hermione nodded almost instantly. "I am."

She was honestly quite surprised by how protective Snape was of her. Despite his complaining that Albus would be the one that was upset, Hermione figured there was a little part of Snape that had developed a kinship with her. She just never thought that he would actually care for her wellbeing so much. She didn't doubt his ability at lying. If he could trick Voldemort for so long, then he could trick Albus Dumbledore. There was no reason why he couldn't just lie about Hermione's relationship with Fenrir. Naturally, her being the only female in the group, the men would all be more protective of her. She was, by communal standards, the weakest one.

"Very well," Snape murmured, "if that is all, I will take my leave."

They all said their polite goodbyes before Snape turned from the room and exited in a flourish of black robes.

It was at that moment that Rodolphus decided to continue. "You know, I have heard rumours that masochists tend to-"

Hermione cut him off before the wretch could continue, "how is it that a pureblood of your standard can be so crude? I am honestly astounded by how dirty your mind is."

Rodolphus was about to answer with, no doubt, a very dirty retort, but he was once again cut off, this time by Lucius.

"Rodolphus," he warned in a quiet, yet imposing voice.

Thankfully, they settled down after that. Fenrir kept her seated firmly on his lap, his arms wrapped around her possessively as if he was still worried that she would be taken away from him. She was sure, in his mind, he thought there was still the possibility of that happening.

Hermione settled against Fenrir as he talked with Lucius. She rested against his chest, her forehead pressed against his neck as she became deeply engrossed in her book. She could idly feel the vibrations in his voice box as Fenrir spoke, the movement soothing her from the tense state she had gotten herself into since 'announcing' her relationship with Fenrir to the men.

"Stop that," she heard a soft rumble in her ear.

She looked up, startled. "What?"

Fenrir frowned down at her, though there was a hint of amusement in his features.

"Stop biting your fingernails, runt," Fenrir clarified. "Nasty habit."

She dropped her hand from her mouth in an instant, a bashful look gracing her features. She hadn't even realised she was doing it.

She glanced around the room, feeling decidedly self conscious, and met the steel grey depths of Lucius Malfoy. She blushed prettily as he raised a dainty eyebrow and gave her a knowing look.

Her blush only intensified when she heard Fenrir chuckle warmly.

-0-0-0-0-

"Are werewolves allergic to chocolate?" Hermione blurted out later that evening.

Fenrir hummed sleepily, his breath tickling the hair on the back of her neck as he spooned himself around her short form.

"Werewolves," Hermione spoke again, turning her head to look at him, "are they allergic to chocolate?"

Fenrir cracked an eye open, frowning at her though an amused smile quirked his lips. He breathed in deeply before letting a rumbling chuckle escape him and opening his eyes fully.

"That question is like asking a vampire if he can go out during the daytime," Fenrir chortled, propping himself up on his elbow to look down at her with a smile.

Hermione ignored his sarcastic retort, instead letting her eyebrows rise in surprise. She didn't honestly think that they would _actually_ be allergic to chocolate. It was just a question asked out of curiosity.

"Seriously?" she asked, "you're actually allergic to chocolate?"

Fenrir smirked down at her. "No, but in saying that, I can't say that it agrees with us. One slab shared between the whole pack will see to a night full of food poisoning. Not a particularly lovely thing, since we can hear small sounds up to a mile away."

Hermione grimaced before her eyebrows quirked in surprise once more. "I can't believe you actually have an allergy to chocolate."

Fenrir hummed in an indication that he had heard her before he reached out with the arm that wasn't holding him up, and tangled a finger around one of her curls, leaning in to nuzzle her temple affectionately.

"It kind of makes sense actually," Hermione continued.

Fenrir hummed in acknowledgement, before lying down once more and pulling her back to his chest, wrapping a large, heavy arm around her waist protectively.

"The fact that you only really eat meat and occasionally potatoes and a few vegetables suggests that you have structural changes to your digestive system," Hermione continued theorising. She then added on an afterthought, "Your colon would be shorter than normal wizards. Did you know that?"

The only response she received for her rambling was a drawn out hum.

She then continued, her mind reeling with information, "Because carbohydrates are harder to break down than proteins, so herbivores would need longer short and long intestines because they need more time to break down their food and get the optimum amounts of nutrients from their food. The opposite goes with carnivores. They only really need to break down proteins, so they don't need long digestive tracts."

Another short hum.

Hermione huffed quietly. "You're not being a very active participant in this conversation, Fenrir."

"I figured you were doing quite well by yourself," came the gruff reply of the large werewolf currently spooned around her.

Hermione tutted, swivelling around in indignation.

"Fenrir!" she hissed in reprimand.

He cracked an eye open, obviously suppressing a smug smirk judging by the crinkling in the corners of his eyes and the tightening of his lips.

"I'm trying to encourage you to sleep," he rumbled. "And you won't get to sleep if you keep spouting off facts like a human encyclopaedia."

"Well," Hermione responded with a scowl, "if you would just let me go to sleep on my own time then you could go to sleep without me rambling in your ear for half the night. Let me get out of bed and read."

"No," he replied shortly, reinforcing his point by pulling her tighter against his chest.

Hermione huffed in annoyance. He never let her fall asleep after him. She figured it was some paranoid, 'not wanting to be killed in your sleep' thing that he had.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Alphas go to sleep last."

"Why?"

Fenrir sighed and opened his eyes once again. "Are you going to keep asking me questions til I answer to your satisfaction?

Hermione gave him a look that said, ' _obviously_.'

Fenrir sighed again, as if suffering a great deal, and propped himself up on his elbow again. "My duty as alpha is to maintain the peace within my pack, and to protect them from harm. I cannot do that if I am asleep while the majority of my village is still awake. I protect what is mine, runt. I won't let my woman go to sleep while it's possibly dangerous for her to do so."

"Oh," Hermione murmured, frowning in thought before she asked another question, "what's your pack like?"

Fenrir groaned. "Go to sleep, woman!"

Hermione didn't say anything but looked back at him expectantly. She didn't want to moan about how tired she _wasn't_. She knew he couldn't care less.

Fenrir finally looked down at her with a sour expression on his face.

"I'll give you three questions," he bargained. "Then you need to get to sleep. Agreed?"

Hermione nodded vigorously, a smile brightening her features. She turned around so that she was facing him.

"What's your pack like?" she asked again.

The large werewolf holding her sighed. "Big."

Hermione scowled at him. "Come on, you have to give me a better answer than that."

He didn't expand and so Hermione leaned forward to nuzzle his chest, moving her head up slowly to kiss his lips warmly, pulling back before he could get too excited.

"Please," she asked sweetly.

Fenrir, who was swimming in the warm caress of his woman, finally snapped out of it and gave her a dirty look as he realised that she had played him.

He answered her anyways.

"As I said, it's big. Nearly one hundred and fifty wolves now. Most of the children there are bitten and introduced once they've had their first change. Maybe seven or so children are from parents in the pack. They're stronger than the rest, what with two forms of venom within their body instead of one. Everyone is expected to pull their weight or else they're punished or exiled. I can't have lazy members in my pack."

He stopped after that, his jaw set stubbornly. Hermione realised that he wouldn't offer any more information than that, even though she wanted to know much more about his pack than the size and quantity of children within it.

She thought carefully about her second question, finally coming up with something that had been bugging her for a while.

"Why do you bite children purposefully?" she fired.

Fenrir looked down at her, giving her a glare that dared her to judge him for his actions. He relaxed when she was simply looking at him, no judgement in her features, simply curiosity.

"Children are easier to mould than adults. You can take children away and teach them your values. Adults have already had their morals instilled in them. It's easier to change a child into a werewolf because they will accept it more readily than adults will."

"You didn't answer my question," Hermione commented, frowning.

She knew that he was simply justifying himself to her, and he didn't need to. She didn't judge him because of it. She was too gloriously blind to his flaws that she would never judge him. Ever.

Fenrir growled at her, leaning down to nip her neck to renew his dominance. Cheeky witch.

"I bite children purposefully because being a werewolf is not a curse," he rumbled, placing hot, wet kisses along her neck after he spoke. "It's a blessing."

Hermione bit her lip, studiously ignoring how the juncture between her thighs grew hot due to his ministrations.

"Why did you bite Bill Weasley in human form?" she asked her voice cracking as he rolled over so that he was placed comfortably between her splayed thighs.

"He's a Gringotts curse breaker," Fenrir growled against her neck, rubbing himself sensually against Hermione's smaller body. She bit her lip, exhaling heavily as she ran the arch of her foot up and down his calf, the thick hairs ticking her skin.

Fenrir then continued, lifting his head to run his lips along her jaw, his eyes locking with hers. He stopped his ministrations, having dominated the little woman underneath him to the point where she was belly up and stroking him reverently like an affectionate little puppy.

"I bit him because I had hoped that even when bitten in my human form he would still feel the call of his mark. That obviously doesn't work judging by his disgusting lack of response, and yours."

Hermione blinked away her haze of lust, ignoring how annoyance flared in her belly at his stopping, and instead frowned in confusion. "The call of his mark? What does that mean?"

"Ah, ah, ah," Fenrir rumbled in reprimand. "That was three. Sleep time, girlie."

"Nooo," Hermione moaned, "you can't get me to sleep when you've made me more curious! What do you mean the call of his mark? And why did you think that _biting_ him would make him want to come to you? This doesn't make any sense! Please, Fenrir. Just answer, please."

Fenrir smirked down at her but his eyes hardened. He gave her a look that said, ' _listen to me, or I will make your life difficult.'_ Hermione rarely followed his silent warnings, but judging by how he suddenly closed off at her final question, she theorised that she had hit a soft spot. One that he wasn't willing to share just yet.

Despite herself, she pouted, and Fenrir watched how that bottom lip stuck out, swollen from her nibbling as she read one of her many books not too long ago.

Unable to resist the charms of that single muscle, Fenrir leaned down and kissed her pout away.

It was much gentler than any of the other times he had kissed her. Before, he was brutal, claiming her, dominating her.

Now, it was as if he knew he had her, and didn't feel the need to assert his authority over her. The little reprieve in his overpowering behaviour was nice.

She sighed happily against his lips, winding her arms around his neck and moving her lips against his gently. He tugged on her lower lip tenderly, sliding his tongue into her mouth when she opened up for him with yet another contented sigh.

They kissed for she didn't know how long. Surprisingly, it didn't escalate. Neither moved to deepen the intimacy. Neither moved to tear clothes off, or to grind against the other.

There was something about this one moment that was much more intimate than any of the other times they had touched each other.

This time, there was a mutual respect and adoration that shined through this single movement. Nothing else was needed to show the other how passionate they felt about the other.

At length, Fenrir pulled back, nuzzling her temple warmly, a satisfied rumble emanating from his chest. Both were happy at that moment, man and beast. She had never seen him so relaxed, or so content.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance   
Chapter 16

'Accidental Mate'  
.

Hermione woke up the next morning wrapped up in a pair of strong arms, which, by the way, were attached to a delightfully warm, hard body.

She snuggled closer to him, smiling quite serenely in the morning light.

Fenrir wasn't what she had ever expected him to be. Sure, he was vicious and violent, borderline evil, some might say. Others would disagree and say that he was unequivocally evil, not borderline. It was all a matter of opinion to Hermione.

But, there was a soft side to him. A big, cuddly, teddy bear side. She didn't see it often, but when she did, it elated her to no end.

She wouldn't change him for the world. He was perfect - albeit in an extremely flawed way - to Hermione. She wouldn't give him up to be with anyone else. Even Johnny Depp.

Depp was too pretty anyways. She liked her men looking like men.

Hermione, eyes still closed, allowed a dirty smile to wind its way onto her features. Fenrir was all man judging by the morning hardness pressed into her bottom.

Feeling devious, Hermione slowly rotated her hips against him, a cheeky grin stretching her lips. She got no reaction. Fenrir continued to sleep soundly behind her, spooned around her smaller form, his breath soft and even.

And so she did it again. This time, a soft growl escaped Fenrir's lips, his breath tickling the hairs on her neck. He tightened his grip around her, and then slackened again, emitting a soft sigh through loosened lips.

Hermione huffed softly. She was determined to wake him up this way just to see his reaction. It was most definitely _not_ because she was randy as hell. She had _not_ been for a few days now, and she had _not_ been too timid to instigate another... encounter...

With Fenrir half asleep, it was just that little bit easier to seduce him. He was already hard. Now, all she needed was to put him in the right frame of mind; something that wasn't too hard to do judging by their previous encounters.

She rolled her hips into his once more, this time harder.

What she wasn't prepared for was him suddenly latching onto her neck with his pointed teeth. Hermione gasped, heat immediately throbbing down to her core at the contact. She reached up with her hand and held him to her neck, her dainty fingers delving into his dirty mane of hair, clutching the strands hard.

A smile stretched her lips. Cheeky bastard had been awake the whole time. He was just waiting for her to make a move.

" _Finally_ ," he rumbled into her skin. "Been waiting over a week for you to be in the mood."

Hermione hissed as he cupped her sex possessively with a large clawed hand, but didn't move. Instead, his attentions were drawn to her neck. Sucking on her mark greedily, his hot, wet tongue lapping at the skin like it was a sweet treat.

"Mm," Hermione hummed, rolling her hips once again, this time gaining delicious friction against the hand cupping her womanhood. "Been waiting for you to pull a move for over a week."

Fenrir paused in his movements for a second before he nipped at her neck, a little harsher than Hermione appreciated.

"Are you telling me that we could have been doing this all week?" Fenrir rumbled, sounding annoyed.

Hermione turned to look him in the face. That was a bad move, since she had the urge to laugh at his expression. He looked like a child who had just found out he had been missing out on dessert for a week when it was quite possible that he could have had some every night had someone just _told_ him he could.

Hermione gave him a quivering smile, attempting not to giggle, and nodded.

Fenrir gave her an exasperated, slightly incredulous look, his mouth hung open in what seemed was horror.

He stared at her like that for a few seconds until his eyes narrowed and a lecherous smile slowly curved his lips. Hermione's refrained giggles stopped there. The look he was giving her was, quite literally, dirty. Hermione could almost picture the naughty things Fenrir wanted to do with her at that moment.

"You're in for it now, witch," Fenrir rumbled, removing his hand from cupping her pussy and instead used it to push her flat on her back. He rolled on top of her, pinning her with his weight. Hermione shuffled so that Fenrir was cradled between her thighs, and idly ran her fingers along his sides and back, tracing soft patterns with her fingertips.

"I've been waiting for over a week for you to let me taste you," he rumbled, slowly gyrating his hips against hers. Hermione hissed as he pressed against her folds, just enough to cause a throb. "And here you've been sitting, watching me walk around with a hard-on nearly constantly, and you didn't do anything. You naughty witch."

He pulled his hips away and Hermione whimpered, grasping his sides, attempting to pull him back against her. She could feel herself sodden for him, her knickers were soaked. Her clit throbbed incessantly, making her squirm in discomfort. Just a little pressure would help. _Please, Fenrir, just move forward._

She gave up not soon after, knowing that her strength was miniscule compared to his. If she wanted him to come to her, she would have to talk him into it.

"I think you need to be shown your place," Fenrir growled down to her, though it lacked malicious intent. "Little Hermione needs to be punished."

Hermione refrained from physically reacting at his words. Those words escaping his lips, him growling that she needed to be punished, it was enough to make any girl cream themselves. And Hermione was no exception.

She smiled coyly up at him, biting her lower lip. She watched how his eyes followed the movement, and how his eyes seemed to heat up as she nibbled on the supple muscle. She then ran her tongue out to wet it. He mimicked her motion, though she wasn't quite sure whether it was an intentional movement on his part or not.

He brought his gaze back up to hers when she murmured, "and how does the Big Bad Wolf plan on punishing me?"

Fenrir smirked down at her and answered in a low rumble, "all in good time, Little Red Riding Hood."

Hermione's mind clouded over before she could question how Fenrir knew of muggle folk lore. He leaned in and kissed her hard, a week's worth of sexual frustration attempting to be poured out into that one kiss. His tongue plunged into her mouth, the supple muscle tracing each and every contour of her hot cavern, mapping each ridge and every plane.

He pressed his mouth to hers so desperately that their teeth clashed. A ragged gasp was torn from each of them as one of Hermione's elongated fangs nicked his lower lip. They pulled away from each other, their breathing ragged and their bodies trembling with want. Hermione's eyes instantly honed in on his lips.

They were swollen and red with the brutality of their coupling earlier, but what really got her attention was the deep crimson patch at the corner of his mouth. She watched with avid fascination as the blood beaded on his skin, a single pebble of the red fluid settling on the supple muscle of his lower lip.

She licked her lips in anticipation, and her eyes flew to meet his. Their eyes locked, and Hermione saw the need she felt for him reflected in his own. He needed her just as she needed him. The realisation was enough to make her lust burst forth with an intensity that had increased tenfold.

Slowly, she raised herself so that she was resting on her elbows. She could feel his hot, ragged breath on her face, the metallic tang of blood hitting her nose as she inhaled his breath. It wasn't as unpleasant as she had thought it before. It was animalistic, musky, purely him. His arms were stretched out, his hands splayed wide on the mattress to anchor his weight. The muscles in his arms were bunched, taut, and flexing to make them look even bigger than she thought possible. She was sure his bicep was thicker than her waist. There were purple veins rising up on his hands and forearms, the fleshy canals raised and straining against his skin, proof of the hot blood swirling within him.

She licked her lips to wet them as her eyes dropped down to his bloodied lip once again. The droplet had finally broken and was now a little red trail that was winding its way into the thick whiskers of his scruffy chinstrap.

Hermione didn't know what came over her. She finally closed the distance between them, and, as if it had a mind of its own, her tongue darted out and licked the blood from his lip and chin.

She pulled back as he released a ragged groan of need. His whole frame shook from the exertion of keeping himself in place, not moving, not touching her. It was agony.

Slowly, he lowered himself on his elbows, their chests touching, heaving against each other, their warmth melding. Fenrir dipped his head, his lips touching hers. She opened to him, and his tongue immediately darted out and found hers.

Hermione's elbows abandoned the duty of holding her body up and, instead, she clutched herself to him desperately, holding him, pulling him close, and not wanting to let him go. She ran her hands up and down the length of his back, feeling the rippling muscles underneath her fingertips, the ridged scars that painted his body in crude stripes.

They kissed for she didn't know how long. They didn't pull back either, they couldn't. There was the odd pause here and there, when one would take a deep drag of breath through their nose, and would then return to plunder each other's mouths.

Fenrir's arms came around her waist and pulled her to him desperately. Hermione was crushed beneath him in a bruising grip, his clawed fingernails biting into her skin despite the thick material of her pyjama top.

His mouth eventually tore itself from her lips and travelled down hungrily, devouring the creamy skin of her neck, sucking on it hungrily, his hot tongue swirling around the velvety flesh.

Hermione moaned, the vibrations massaging his lips.

"My," she babbled breathlessly, her chest heaving against his, "what a big mouth you have, Mister Wolf."

A rumbling growl was ripped from deep within his chest. "All the better to eat you with, my dear."

He proved his point by biting down on her mark, his sharp teeth piercing her flesh, reopening the old wound on her neck. Hermione arched against him, the sting sending jolts right down to her toes. She groaned with need when she felt his hardness press against her core, and with the contact, Fenrir's hips jolted roughly, a growl of need escaping him.

He gulped her hot blood down greedily, a moan of triumphant satisfaction escaping him. He ground his hips into hers roughly, the friction hardly there due to the unforgiving clothes separating them.

Hermione sobbed with need, her hands moving down his back once again to fumble with the strings in his track pants. She thanked the lord that he wore them to bed. She knew she wouldn't be patient enough if she had to handle zippers or belts.

She pushed the pants off his hips roughly, but didn't get further than that since he had pinned her down. She released a groan of frustration and pushed at his chest. He got the message, and sat back on his knees. Hermione sat up with him, instantly reaching for the hem of his pants. The pair was breathing raggedly, their hands fumbling against each other as they tore the clothes off one another. Fenrir ripped Hermione's pyjama top open, the buttons flying in all directions. Her pert breasts bounced free, unhindered by a bra, the nipples rosy and pebbled. As he was doing this, Hermione had pushed his pants down to his knees, his erection bouncing free.

His manhood was as magnificent as she remembered. It was long and hard, defying gravity as it jutted out straight towards her, curved upwards ever so slightly. The head was purple with need, and blue veins arched against the velvety skin of his thick shaft.

Fenrir looked down at the little witch before him. Her hair was wild with sleep, her pyjama shirt wide open, her face flushed. She was beautiful, and –

Those thoughts were promptly cut off when her little hand encircled his shaft and squeezed.

Fenrir's eyes rolled back into his head, a hiss escaping between his clenched teeth. He shuffled so that he was sitting on the mattress, his legs splayed with Hermione kneeling between them.

He let his head fall back with a ragged groan as she worked her hand up and down his engorged cock, rolling her palm on the head, spreading the pre-cum around before returning to pumping him.

One of his clawed hands came up and cupped one of her breasts, feeling the supple flesh beneath his palm, the nipple straining against his skin, hard and peaked. He tweaked it between his fingers, rolling it, causing a ragged, pleasure-filled moan to escape the little woman in front of him.

She shuffled closer so that she was right in front of him, slightly hunched as she worked both her hands on him. He was so big compared to her. She could only just touch her thumb to her forefinger if she squeezed him hard.

He touched a hand to her wetness, noticing how the proof of her lust had started dripping down her inner thighs, thick and creamy. He felt a surge of satisfaction well deep within him in knowing that he could get this little woman spurting like a broken faucet.

She ground down on his hand hungrily, her hands slackening slightly at his first touch before she set about jerking him off once again.

Fenrir felt a familiar feeling well up from deep within his chest. It wasn't an orgasm, he knew that for sure. It had happened the last time she had given him head. He felt the overwhelming need to mark her as his mate, to start the process of claiming her as his and only his. The intimacy of their coupling simply ignited the feeling.

Normally he would be able to suppress the feeling, but her little hands working up and down his shaft, cupping his balls and rolling them between her fingertips, her neck exposed to him perfectly... It was definitely harder to repress the need.

He felt himself salivating, his mouth filling with his sour venom. He had to clench his jaw to stop himself. The feeling raged around his body. It was a natural sensation, like the need to take your hand away from something hot. It was a reaction, something that simply happened.

He swallowed thickly and leant forward to rest his forehead on her shoulder. His body trembled with the feelings that were assaulting him. Hermione's hot little hands working his glistening wet shaft, sending rhythmic jolts through his body, his balls tingling as the inevitable was slowly drawn out of him. That, mixed with the fire of the mating urge, made his brain shut down. It was all he could do to keep himself under control.

_No, not while she's human. She can't handle it... Not while she's human. The lunar eclipse isn't far away... You can handle it... you can handle it..._

His clawed hands came up and yanked her closer, holding her in a bruising tight grip, yanking her pyjama top from her when his claws caught in the fabric. He pulled her closer to him, his chest heaving with his ragged breaths, slowly thrusting into her hot little hands, each thrust becoming more erratic as his balls tingled with the inevitable orgasm that would soon consume him.

He couldn't help himself when he raised his head and bit into her skin gently, somewhat easing the urge to mate with her. His teeth didn't pierce her flesh, he simply held her where she was.

That remedy was then shattered when Fenrir came violently, hot spurts of his seed ripped from him in inhuman quantities, the thick white fluid landing on Hermione's abdomen and breasts. His hips jerked against her hands as she continued to slowly pump him, drawing out his orgasm. It didn't slow down however, it merely increased. It felt like molten lava was building up in his chest, rising, rising, til it overflowed in a seismic explosion. Fenrir's world exploded in a series of unquestionable, agonising waves of ecstasy.

Slowly, he came down from his high, trembling slightly. Fenrir opened his eyes and pulled away from her neck, tasting the tang of blood on his tongue. He licked his lips, savouring the sweetness of it before he looked up at Hermione with a contented smile.

That particular facial expression dropped, however, when he noticed her trembling with her eyes shut tight, her mouth dropped open slightly as she drew shallow, ragged breaths. His eyes darted down to her neck, his grey orbs widening in horror when he noticed _two_ wounds on her neck, one on either side.

"Shit," he swore, his eyes flying up to look at his little woman.

He flinched, grimacing when a small cry escaped her parted lips, her trembling worsening. She sagged back on the mattress, convulsing.

"Hermione?" he asked, touching her face tenderly. "Hermione, open your eyes. Come on, please. Please, tell me you're alright."

Panic started welling within his chest. Surely it wasn't enough to overload her? He knew that the mating process was intense for humans. That's why it wasn't encouraged to mate with them. The only problem was that Fenrir didn't know what type of 'intense' it was. Was it a good sort of intense or a bad sort of intense? By the looks of it, Hermione was in agony. And it was all his fault.

His eyebrows drew together as his chest tightened with guilt. _He_ had done this to her. It was _his_ fault.

Fenrir crouched over her, picking her up and bringing her tensed form to his chest, ignoring how her abdomen was covered in his release. He hunched over her, resting his forehead in the crook of her neck, murmuring quiet pleads into her skin.

Slowly, her trembling lessened, her small whimpers dying down to soft keens.

"Fenrir?"

His head snapped up to look at her.

Hermione's eyes were opened and watery, her breathing deep and ragged.

He swallowed thickly, relief welling up within his chest at seeing her eyes opened.

"How are you feeling?" Fenrir asked, sitting her up and shifting her so that she was leaning heavily against him. He wrapped his arms around her protectively and held her close, unwilling to let her go.

"That was," Hermione murmured, ignoring his question, "intense."

He grimaced again, and buried his head in her hair, despair debilitating him from saying more than a choked, "I'm sorry."

There was silence for a few seconds where Fenrir merely wallowed in guilt.

"You're sorry for giving me a mind-boggling orgasm?" Hermione's soft voice asked, her voice laced with confusion.

Fenrir pulled away from her hair and looked down at her with a baffled frown. "What?"

"Yeah," Hermione answered, looking just as confused as he felt, "what on earth did you think I was doing? Convulsing on the bed simply because it was fun?"

He tapped her arm lightly in reprimand for her cheek, and tutted.

"So you were... wait, you had an orgasm for _that long_? It was at least a minute!"

Fenrir watched, momentarily amused when a blush rose on Hermione's already pink cheeks.

"Well..." she mumbled her answer, "yes..."

He barked a laugh, and clutched her closer to him, resting his chin on her head as relief washed over him. Well, at least it was a good type of intense.

He was brought out of his thoughts when Hermione spoke again.

"I've never felt anything like that before," she commented softly, "it felt like..." she paused and shook her head before continuing, "like my world had exploded. From one atom to a billion. Like a universe had been created in a single second."

Fenrir didn't answer her. He didn't honestly know how to. How on earth was he supposed to tell her it was because he involuntarily started the mating process with her?

They were both brought from the topic when a silvery Patronus floated into the room.

" _Come,"_ came the unmistakable hiss of the Dark Lord.

The pair watched as the octopus dissipated in a silvery swirl of smoke.

There was a second of silence before Hermione roared with laughter.

" _That's_ Voldemort's Patronus?" she managed to choke out, her face red as she struggled to breathe between fits of laughter. "Oh my god... I can't believe..."

She didn't finish her sentence as her voice was instead used to cackle like a madwoman.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance   
Chapter 17

'The Final Battle?'  
.

"Promise you won't stay away so long this time?" Hermione asked sweetly as she clutched Fenrir to her.

The pair was standing together, framed within the open doorway, Hermione tucked inside Fenrir's large black trench coat. He was clutching her just as fiercely, his head buried by her large mass of curls, breathing her scent in deeply. He knew he wouldn't see her for a good few weeks. He had his responsibilities to the pack and to the Dark Lord.

All the same, he didn't want to leave her. It ached to be away from her for too long. He knew it was the mating process that had begun. Before, he might have called having feelings for the little woman a weakness. Now, he couldn't care less. Yes, she was a weakness in his otherwise impenetrable armour, but it was a weakness he would bear gladly.

"I will try," he promised in a low rumble, nuzzling her neck and temple warmly.

They reluctantly pulled away from each other, Hermione giving Fenrir a gloomy smile as she dropped her arms to her sides. This was the loneliness again, with no one apart from Snape once a week for a month to visit her. She dropped her eyes so he wouldn't see the sadness in them, but he caught her chin and made her look at him once more.

"I promise," he murmured quietly, leaning down so that they were a breath's length apart. "I will come back soon."

Hermione gave him a small smile. She knew he would get to her when he could, but that didn't mean that he would be back any faster than the times before. She knew he had duties beyond her.

She nodded and grasped the hand under her chin, bringing it down before she raised herself up on her toes and kissed him sweetly.

She pulled back and took a step away from him.

"Go," she prompted. "I'll see you soon."

Fenrir merely stood there, watching her intently. He didn't move a single muscle in either direction, not moving to leave, not moving to stay. It was unnerving. Why was he staring at her so?

And then, all of a sudden, he took a step towards her. In two powerful strides he met her, his large arms clutching her against him and lifting her off the ground so that his mouth could meet hers. Hermione's hands immediately moved to delve deep into his hair and clutch him closer. His tongue darted to meet hers, tasting her sweet mouth for the last time in what would be weeks.

Hermione almost sobbed when he pulled away and put her down. She had no idea why she felt the need to stay near him. All she knew was that since this morning, there was a conscious awareness of him. There was a need to be near him. The closer she got to him, the more the delicate flickering within her soul would turn into an intense, safer flame.

And then he was gone, the hallway empty. She rushed to the doorway, only to see him give her a parting glance, his expression pained as he apparated from sight. Hermione's soul gave a lurch at his sudden distance from her. It felt like it was tugging in her chest, thrashing within her to return to him.

This sudden neediness scared Hermione. She had never relied so heavily on someone before, and now, all of a sudden, she knew that if Fenrir stayed away, she would suffer greatly. _It was unhealthy_. That was the first thing that Hermione realised. No one should need another person so greatly.

It was sick.

Hermione felt panic rising within her chest. _What had Fenrir done to her?_

-0-0-0-0-

Fenrir apparated outside the gates of Malfoy Manor with a crack of thunder. He slowly made his way up to the grand mansion, pondering the idle tug in his chest as he left Hermione. The feeling was much more intense than he had expected. Others that had described it had said that it would die down with time. He reverently hoped that it would. The feeling was borderline debilitating.

The grand doors of the front atrium opened with a flourish, revealing the chattering crowd of Death Eater's. Well... 'Crowd' perhaps was the wrong word. 'Army' was more accurate. There were literally hundreds of men and women crammed within the overly large atrium.

Fenrir frowned in bemusement. What on earth had prompted the Dark Lord to call _all_ of his followers?

He waded through the men and women that glanced and sneered at him when he passed by, all shuffling to get out of his way as if they didn't want the dirt on their robes sullied by him.

Fenrir sneered back at them and growled low in his chest, cracking his knuckles. Oh, how he wanted to sink his claws into all these egotistical, arrogant, self-righteous morons. If he had his way, it wouldn't be long before he could.

A flash of blonde hair caught Fenrir's attention. His head swivelled in the direction and caught sight of Lucius talking to Rabastan, looking haughty as ever though there was an underlying tenseness in his eyes and shoulders.

Fenrir made his way over to the men, not bothering with human speed, and bumped a few people out of the way quite rudely when they didn't move away from him fast enough.

"Lucius, Rabastan," Fenrir greeted with a nod of his head.

They greeted him in the same way. Fenrir moved to stand beside Lucius, his eyes scanning the crowd in apparent interest.

Quietly he inquired, "What's happened?"

Lucius answered, his voice laced with subtle apprehension, "we aren't sure."

The men fell silent after that, standing in their little group. Lucius and Rabastan were occasionally greeted by a fellow Death Eater and talked business, but the intruders didn't stay long with Fenrir hovering at the sides and daring them to spontaneously combust with his feral glare.

Fenrir would occasionally rub his chest to ease the uncomfortable flares within, his face contorting into a subtle grimace. Lucius and Rabastan would give him curious stares, but they wouldn't enquire why he was so blatantly showing discomfort. Fenrir couldn't help it, really. The flaring was getting worse. It felt like the flare was panicking, sending itself into hysterics. It took him a little while to realise that it wasn't the flare that was panicking, but Hermione.

He resisted the urge to go and soothe her. He knew he hadn't given her sufficient answers that morning, but he knew that she would take the news of his starting to mate with her badly. She was fiercely independent, and creating such a connection between the two of them would be a much more debilitating experience for her. He was a werewolf, and thus stronger. He could handle the connection. That's why it was discouraged to mate with humans. He was sure Hermione was feeling the same things he was, but with much more strength. The tugging in his chest was nothing compared to what she should be feeling at that moment.

Fenrir was brought out of his thoughts when the room suddenly fell quiet. He lifted his gaze from the floor, and looked towards where everyone else's gazes were trained.

There, in the doorway, stood his 'master.'

Lord Voldemort.

"My faithful followers," the Dark Lord hissed, his glinting red eyes sweeping over his sea of followers.

He paused for effect and swept his arms out wide before roaring triumphantly, " _the end is nigh!_ "

Instantly, an uproar of happy cheers filled the atrium, bouncing off the walls, grating against Fenrir's ears. The purebloods of higher status clapped politely, but didn't show open cheer, their ego's too precious to be tarnished by such a blatant slip of self control.

Voldemort silenced them with a single raised hand, smiling in what seemed was condescending patience, as if he were talking to a group of toddlers.

"Our journey has been a long and tedious one," Voldemort murmured, "but it has been worth it. Every single day, every hour, every minute, has been spent on developing a plan to benefit our community for the greater good. And now we can finally put that plan into action!"

The Death Eater's all cheered once more.

"But," the Dark Lord boomed, striding forward to gain the attention of his followers once more, "but, we still have one obstacle to overcome before we can start the mitigation on the world that has been so heinously mistreated!"

He stopped, his eyes swooping around his followers, his features darkening into one of unadulterated loathing.

"Albus Dumbledore," the Dark Lord hissed, "that _single_ man, that single _old_ man, has stood in our way for nigh on five decades! Well, no more!"

"Tonight," the Dark Lord continued after a lengthy pause, "we will attack Hogwarts, and Albus Dumbledore will cease to exist!"

"And, if Harry Potter should so much as show himself," the Dark Lord continued, his voice raising to a passionate roar, "then the image of my wand pointed towards him will be the last thing he will see before he meets his overdue death!"

The Death Eater's all cheered once more, a chorus of yells such as "death to Harry Potter," escaping from the deafening roars.

"Return here at midnight," the Dark Lord boomed, "And when the clock strikes one, so will we!"

Fenrir watched as the Dark Lord left with a dramatic flourish of his deep green robes. As soon as the Dark Lord removed himself from the room, his followers turned to each other to chatter excitedly, the buzz of unintelligible chatter grating on Fenrir's sensitive ears.

Fenrir's attention was brought to a weedy looking Death Eater as he flounced up to Rodolphus, who had joined them at some point during the Dark Lord's speech.

"That's bloody good news, aye?" The slippery little man asked, a stupid grin adorning his features.

"Very good indeed," Rodolphus acquiesced with a polite nod, though Fenrir could see the slight upwards tilt of his nose that indicated that Rodolphus did not appreciate being addressed by this little man. Whoever he was.

"I 'ope I'm put in the front lines," the little man gushed, causing Fenrir to sigh heavily. Wouldn't he just shut up? "Wanna get there first, ya know?"

"I hope you do too," Fenrir growled, turning on the little man with a sneer. "That way I won't have to listen to you gushing like a stupid adolescent when you're killed."

Very predictably, the little man quivered underneath him, spluttering for words. Fenrir wouldn't be surprised if he pissed himself from fright.

"What?" he snarled. "Spit it out!"

"I – I need to – elsewhere," the little man babbled, looking as if he was going to cry before he hurriedly scrambled away from the group.

Fenrir watched the man with narrowed eyes as the little bastard buried himself in the chattering sea of Death Eater's.

"Who on Earth was that?" Fenrir growled with a sneer.

"Stan Shunpike," answered Lucius, a haughty sniff escaping him.

Before either of the others could comment on the bad breeding of the boy, Rabastan murmured, "Would you all like to retreat to my house so that we may celebrate in quieter comfort?"

The group all agreed. Within minutes they were out of Malfoy Manor, apparating with a series of pops and a crack of thunder.

Rabastan's house was smaller than his brothers. With Rodolphus being the oldest Lestrange, he was the one to gain the majority of his parent's money when they died. Rabastan gained enough for others to recognise his status, but it was always blatantly clear which was the more favoured brother in the family.

The group entered the house hurriedly, convening in Rabastan's large sitting room.

Despite the unusual air of panic that had settled over the group, neither of the men showed their anxiety. They all remained stoic, the only signs of unease shown in small mannerisms such as Lucius' finger tapping the head of his cane or Rodolphus' rubbing the rough hairs of his beard. Instead, they immediately got down to business.

"What do we do now?" Fenrir asked, knowing the other men had much more analytical minds than he.

"We have to warn Dumbledore," Lucius stated.

"Yes, but we can't. The Dark Lord could track us with our marks if we stray anywhere near Hogwarts," Rabastan stated. "It'll be suspicious if we go anywhere near the castle before he's given orders to attack."

"What if we send a Patronus?" Rodolphus asked.

"Not if the Dark Lord has placed sentries outside the castle grounds," Rabastan answered, "they'll be looking out for any strange activity. Something as conspicuous as a Patronus will definitely tip him off. Not to mention, a Patronus is specific to a single wizard. He can trace the spell back to one of us if he really wants to."

"An owl?" Fenrir contributed simply.

"A letter will be too impersonal," Rabastan answered, "they won't take it seriously."

"So we need someone to go down there and warn them," Rodolphus stated. "And the only person who doesn't have a Dark Mark here is..."

Fenrir watched as three gazes shifted to him.

"Oh, bloody Hell!" Fenrir cursed, giving an exasperated huff. "I suppose I will have to get through the Forbidden Forest in order to do that then?"

Lucius simply nodded. "There'll be order members guarding the entrance. The easiest way to get through would be the forest."

Fenrir sighed as if suffering a great deal. "Fine. I'll do it."

All three of the others breathed a collective sigh of relief, obviously drooping when the temperamental werewolf agreed to put his life in danger for the sake of Dumbledore and the kids at Hogwarts. Fenrir knew he didn't have to do this. He joined the group to kill the Dark Lord, not to help the children of the imbeciles that had exiled him from society. It wasn't his duty, but in the back of his mind, he knew it would make Hermione happy. That was the only reason he was doing this, risking his life. For Hermione.

With another heavy sigh Fenrir moved to leave, only to pause in the doorway when he heard Lucius call to him.

"Fenrir, be careful."

Outwardly Fenrir might have looked impassive as he turned to look at Lucius. Inside, however, he felt a pang at his comrade's words. Knowing that Lucius would look out for him gave him a warm feeling. A feeling that he only really gained when he was with his pack.

Kinship.

He nodded stiffly in thanks before he walked out the room and into the midday sun.

-0-0-0-0-

It came as a huge surprise when Fenrir woke up from apparent unconsciousness, bound to a chair with five or so Order members looking down their noses at him. Naturally, he was not impressed.

_How fucking dare they?_

Before he could stop himself, he snarled at them. Three, apart from a brawny black man and Snape, looked taken aback and paled. If he weren't so angry, Fenrir would have smirked in triumph. At least he still had most of these people scared.

That black man, however. Fenrir narrowed his eyes at him. Either he was incredibly stupid and wasn't scared, or had incredible self control.

Then again, being bound to a chair with ropes, Fenrir's sinister atmosphere was severely diminished.

"Greyback," murmured a distinctly female voice. Fenrir's head snapped around to look at who addressed him.

It was a relatively tall woman with bright pink hair. As she came closer, Fenrir got a waft of her smell, and immediately recognised who she was. She was that little bitch of Lupin's. His smell was draped all over her. Fenrir wouldn't be surprised if they had rutted only hours before, the stench was so strong.

"Well, well," Fenrir rumbled, letting a smile tweak his lips. He knew his smile wasn't friendly. It hadn't been for decades. Now he used it for intimidation, and that suited him just fine. Just as long as little Hermione didn't cower away from him when he did it, his smile wouldn't worry him in the least. "What do we have here?"

Fenrir turned his head and smirked right at Snape.

' _Don't antagonise them.'_

Fenrir's smirk only grew. _'They need to be shown their place.'_

' _You may need their help if you want to get through this alive without seeing the inside of an Azkaban prison cell.'_

Fenrir's smirk dropped, only to be replaced with a frown. He was dimly aware of the other people in the room, but he didn't pay them much attention.

' _What do you mean? How long have I been here by the way?'_

' _You've been unconscious for the good part of three hours. It's nearly five in the afternoon. Why were you trespassing on the Hogwarts' grounds?'_

Fenrir sighed heavily. Fantastic, they had found him. _'I have news. The Dark Lord's staging an attack in the early hours of the morning at Hogwarts. He's planning on an all-out riot to kill Dumbledore, hoping that with all his Death Eater's there that one of them might kill the old man in all the chaos.'_

Snape stiffened, his black eyes narrowing with thought. _'That is why you came?'_

Fenrir gave him a look that questioned the black haired man's intelligence. _'Why else would I be on the Hogwarts' grounds during the day?'_

Snape sighed, shaking his head in apparent aggravation. _'you came all the way to Hogwarts when you could have gone back to the cabin and contacted me via the two-way mirror that I gave Granger?'_

Fenrir felt his eyes widen in shock.

"Ah, crap," he muttered in frustration, tipping his head back as the option was pointed out to him. Honestly, how stupid could he get?

When he heard a low hardly-perceptible chuckle from the dark haired man in front of him, Fenrir's head snapped up to glare at Snape.

Snape looked rather amused. _'I'm also rather surprised that you actually agreed to put yourself in danger all for the sake of the school.'_

Fenrir dropped eye contact to roll his own eyes before he returned again. If Snape wanted to believe that he was warning to school for the sake of the _human_ children in the school, then Snape didn't know him at all. _'If you are done analysing my actions, can we get to the point? What do I do now? I wasn't exactly planning on being caught.'_

' _Mm,'_ Snape hummed through their mental connection, _'I've been thinking about that for a while actually. The only ways I can see you getting out of this is through either being sent to Azkaban, which probably won't happen since the Dark Lord will probably have you killed once he realises that you have been anywhere near Hogwarts before the riot has taken place. Or, the other is to reveal what we've been doing this whole time. They will sympathise and Dumbledore will probably overlook your... preferences in prey to try and gain cooperation from our group.'_

Fenrir pursed his lips to refrain from growling. _'Are you sure the old codger was in Gryffindor?'_

A small smile tweaked Snape's lips. _'I honestly doubt he was in Gryffindor.'_

Bringing the mental conversation back on track, Fenrir instead murmured, _'I can fight my way out.'_

' _There are too many.'_

' _I'm not weak.'_ Fenrir growled despite himself, his face darkening.

' _I know you're not weak,'_ came Snape's answer, _'But you're still not strong enough to fight your way out single-handedly against a heavily warded castle with dozens of Order members stationed there to protect the children. The fact that you're a well know Death Eater and child napper only means that they won't hesitate to do some serious damage to you before they ask questions. You're lucky that you got this far without being hospitalised, despite your healing factor.'_

Fenrir sighed once again. _'So I either go to Azkaban or tell them what we've been doing for the past four years?'_

Snape nodded.

Fenrir was dimly aware of his name being called by Lupin's bitch again, but he ignored it.

' _I suppose you want me to go to Azkaban,'_ Fenrir murmured through their mental link, his voice taking on one of slight mockery, _'all for the cause, right?'_

Snape raised a black eyebrow. He might have made a more inferior man feel like a child with that look, but Fenrir merely sneered back at him.

' _Do I look like a Hufflepuff to you? I wouldn't expect you to be that loyal. I wouldn't send myself to Azkaban under any circumstance, and neither should you.'_

"GREYBACK!"

Fenrir broke the mental link between Snape and him to look around at the woman who had yelled his name.

He didn't answer her, but merely gave her a condescending look before he completely ignored her and turned to Snape once more.

' _So I should tell them about the group.'_

' _It isn't about what you should do, Fenrir,'_ Snape answered through their link, frowning slightly, _'it's about what you're willing to do.'_

' _And you're willing to face the consequences for betraying the Order?'_ Fenrir shot back through their link.

' _I haven't betrayed them. I have simply been working with more able-minded men to speed up the cause,'_ Snape answered through their link, a smug smirk tweaking his lips. _'Dumbledore cannot call me a traitor simply because I did not follow his ideologies. He never forbade me from working with people from outside the Order to bring down the Dark Lord. I didn't break any of his rules.'_

Fenrir mirrored his smirk and nodded.

He then turned to Lupin's bitch and stated. "I need to speak to Albus Dumbledore."


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance   
Chapter 18

'So What Now?'  
.

Hermione lay on top of the lush sofa, sweaty and shaking. Since Fenrir left, the feeling not only stayed there, but it got worse. It felt like her insides were boiling, thrashing beneath her skin, yearning to be released. Her being was calling out to him, screaming for him to return to her, to complete what he started.

What he did start, she had no idea.

She took a deep, shuddering breath, closing her eyes tight and clutching the fabric hard, bunching it beneath her clenched fingertips. Her body felt feverish and her stomach was churning, acid making its way up her oesophagus, burning her mouth and throat. Her muscles cramped and spasmed.

If she hadn't felt so sorry for herself, Hermione swore she would be plotting her revenge on Fenrir for making her like this. Obviously, he had transferred some sort of sickness to her.

She lay there for she didn't know how long. She was lying in a puddle of her own sweat on the sofa, hair plastered to her face, her skin pale and glistening.

This was the image professor Snape saw when he came through the floo with a burst of green flames.

The expression on his face gave Hermione some sort of satisfaction. She never thought the day would come when she would surprise Severus Snape. Obviously, today was that day. It was kind of sad that she could only garner this much of a reaction out of him when she felt like she was on her deathbed.

"Hello professor," Hermione murmured, her voice wobbly and feeble in decibels.

Snape walked up to her slowly, eyeing her quaking form with what seemed was anxiety. A small glimmer of amusement shone through when Hermione realised that Severus Snape was a germophobe.

"What's wrong with you, Granger?" Snape asked, studiously keeping the coffee table between them as if worried that she was going to suddenly jump at him and threaten to suck his brains out.

"Not sure," she whispered. "F-Fenrir bit me this morning n' I have felt like this ever since. S' bloody awful."

Hermione didn't know Snape's face could go any paler. Evidently, it could. He looked like he had layered bleach-white paint over his skin.

He started mumbling something about lunar eclipses and strode out of the cabin with a flourish of his black robes.

Hermione sat up, startled by his behaviour, and called his name softly, not wanting to be alone.

"Professor?" Hermione called again. "Professor, what's going on?"

Snape strode back in the room not long after, looking quite relieved.

"At least it's not the eclipse," he mumbled to himself, pacing the length of the room before suddenly rounding on her and barking, "How many bites do you have on your neck?"

Hermione spluttered for an answer. "Excuse me?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "There's no time for righteous indignation, Granger. Now, how many bite marks do you have?"

"Uh..." Hermione hummed in thought, "Two. Why are you asking me this, Professor?"

Snape's face fell blank, a sure sign that he wanted to hide something.

Instead of answering he asked a question of his own. "One on each side?"

"I... yes," Hermione murmured quietly. "Do you know why I'm like this? What did Fenrir do to me?"

Snape exhaled slowly through his overly large nose, closing his eyes for a second before looking back at her. He looked exhausted.

"He didn't tell you?" Snape asked.

"Tell me what?" Hermione replied, baffled. What was Fenrir meant to tell her? "Professor, what did Fenrir do to me? Why do I feel so ill?"

"I'm afraid, Miss Granger," Snape murmured softly, "that I am not in the position to answer that question. You'd better ask the mongrel yourself."

Hermione sent him a disapproving look before murmuring softly, "don't call him a mongrel."

"You'll agree with the term after he's explained everything to you," Snape retorted, sneering at her.

Hermione merely glared at him in return.

"Was there a reason why you came here tonight?" Hermione asked spitefully.

"Yes," Snape answered stiffly. "The Dark Lord has issued an attack on Hogwarts. I was sent to retrieve you, though now I doubt that you should be away from the cabin."

"Hey!" Hermione barked indignantly, "I'm just feeling a little under the weather. I can handle myself in a fight."

Snape levelled her with a stare and Hermione, at that moment, had the distinct feeling that it wasn't her feeling under the weather that he was talking about.

And awkward silence befell the two.

Hermione, squirming in her sweat-dampened seat, asked awkwardly, "why is he attacking Hogwarts now? Didn't you say we had a year?"

Snape nodded stiffly. "I did. It appears the Dark Lord has gotten impatient and has issued the battle much sooner than we expected."

"Good thing we finished the potion when we did, huh?" Hermione asked with a forced smile.

"Indeed."

Hermione cleared her throat awkwardly when another heavy silence befell them.

"All right," Hermione murmured uncomfortably, "better get going then."

She swung her legs over the couch and stood slowly, expecting her head to spin. Luckily, it didn't. Her stomach churned a bit though.

Snape moved over to her, and grasped her elbow in support. Hermione almost 'awe'd' at him. He was helping her, a rather new development. It was sweet.

But, Hermione being the self-righteous Gryffindor she was, flat out refused to accept help flooing to Hogwarts. She wasn't _that_ sick.

Evidently, she could, in fact, floo by herself, just not as gracefully as she could normally.

She stumbled out of the fireplace in a puff of black ash, her feet sinking out from under her, causing her to land right on her bottom. Her world tumbled and turned for a few moments as vertigo set in once again. Hermione shut her eyes tightly, breathing deeply to settle her disturbed stomach before she opened them again.

When she did, there was a clawed hand stretched out in front of her, offering to help her up. She looked up and met the steely grey orbs of Fenrir. She felt a rush of relief wash over her form. Almost instantly, the stiff ache in her chest lessened into a warmer glow, the hot flushes that plagued her body evaporated, and the quaking in her muscles ceased.

She felt a spark of life enter her once again.

Fenrir looked down at Hermione, his brows creased into what looked like a worried frown. She looked awful. Her skin was pale and drawn, though her cheeks were flushed in a deep red. Her hand felt hot to the touch and there was a small quiver in it when Hermione gripped his hand tightly to be hoisted up. Was this what happened when he left her? Was the mating process taking this much of a toll on her little human body?

He knew that during the mating process, the couple wasn't meant to leave each other at all. The bond was formed more securely if both parties at least stayed in close range to each other - hence why sex was a very common activity between mating pairs. You couldn't get closer to another person than through intercourse.

She wobbled slightly on her legs and Fenrir wrapped his arm around her waist, dipping his head into her ample hair and inhaling her sweet scent deeply, relief washing over his form.

He too felt the subtle ache in his chest settle and smiled in relief, his grip on her waist tightening possessively. He never wanted to leave her again.

It was at that moment that the subtle sound of a throat clearing brought the pair out of their moment. Both Fenrir's and Hermione's heads snapped around and found a room full of people staring at them, wide-eyed.

Hmm... this was an interesting development. All five of the Death Eater's who had worked with Hermione to bring down Voldemort were standing amongst the Order members. And they weren't tied up or unarmed.

Clearly, they had come clean to Dumbledore for some reason.

Hermione's gaze instantly drifted over to two men, one with ginger hair, and the other with black, both of whom had been a part of condemning her to going into hiding. The two best friends she had had since she was twelve.

Both were staring at her with a mixture of shock, confusion, and disgust.

"H-Hermione?" stammered Harry, his green eyes wide behind the circular frames of his glasses.

Said woman nodded meekly; giving the two men she called brothers a soft smile. "Hello boys."

She noticed how their eyes flickered from her to Fenrir constantly. They shuffled a little, as if itching to move to her but something seemed to stop them.

It took her a moment to realise it was the deadly werewolf standing over her - like an overprotective guard dog - that had made them pause.

She looked up at Fenrir, and when his own eyes met hers, she smiled reassuringly and stepped out of the protective confines of his arms. He let go of her reluctantly, and with a feral baring of his teeth to the boys, he warned them silently that if they dared do anything that wasn't to his liking, then they would be gutted before they could even think the word, 'pain.'

She stood in front of the two men and smiled shyly, her hands clasped before her as if meeting two strangers instead of old time chums. It felt that way too. Ten months apart could do wondrous things to the bonds of humans. It appeared that ten months could easily cause those close bonds to diminish into those of acquaintances.

Her ponderings were brought to a halt when both Harry and Ron burst forth with their questions.

"Where have you been? We thought you were dead! -"

"What are those marks doing on your neck, 'Mione? -"

"– Looked for you for months – "

"– Looks like you've been bitten by a bloody bear – "

"– And then Dumbledore called off the search – "

"– Why are you all lovey-dovey with Fenrir bloody Greyback, woman? – "

"– Didn't know what to do without you – "

"– Looks like a big brute to me. Does he even know how to count to ten?"

"BOYS!"

Both Ron and Harry stopped their simultaneous interrogation of her, their eyes going wide at being so suddenly yelled at by their friend. Both gulped.

Hermione sighed and decided to answer Harry first. He, obviously, was the one that had demanded to know where she had disappeared to for ten months.

"Harry," Hermione started, "I was kidnapped that day you two dragged me down to Knockturn Alley. We don't have enough time to go into details, but long story short, I was brought in front of Voldemort –" she rolled her eyes when everyone except Dumbledore and Harry flinched. Fenrir's resounding snarl echoed throughout the room. "– and was forced to reveal secrets that applied to the Order. I was then forced to take the Dark Mark so that V- the Dark Lord could track me and keep tabs on me."

She paused, not wanting to tell them that she had tried to run from the world like a snivelling coward. She wasn't proud of herself when that memory came to mind. She was a well known Gryffindor, and she had betrayed herself by trying to run. She was no better than Peter Pettigrew.

She skipped over that particular part of her story and continued. "Professor Dumbledore then sent me into hiding, and I've been there since."

She paused, expecting them to have another outburst, but they didn't, and so she merely concluded with a soft, "I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye to you two."

There was a second or two of silence before Hermione rounded on Ron and spoke in a commanding, bossy voice. The voice she used to reprimand him. It was a well known tone. "As for _you_ , Ronald."

Ron looked like a deer caught in the headlights. As soon as Hermione rounded on him, he stood up straight, his eyes wide with terror. He looked like a young boy who knew he was going to be told off.

" _Yes_ , these are bite marks. _No,_ I am not going to tell you who made them. _No_ , they were not done by a 'bloody bear', nor were they done by _any_ animal. I am _not_ lovey-dovey with Fenrir. _No,_ I will not kiss him in public. Unlike you and Lavender, I can control myself so as not to terrify the locals by sucking off the face of another human being in broad daylight! And Fenrir is _not_ a brute. He was born a pureblood of the highest calibre, and I will tell you now that his education far exceeds the ability to count to ten _, whelp_."

She really did try to not act surprised at her last word, but it was kind of hard not to act surprised when one was, in fact, surprised. It was just a reaction, something that couldn't really be controlled, especially to one as impulsive as a Gryffindor. Hermione had no idea how Snape did it for so many years.

Unfortunately, by the time that she had realised that she shouldn't react surprised towards the word and thus draw more attention to her phrasing, her facial expressions had already mirrored the shock that she felt, and it was too late to rectify the damage done.

And so she did what any blatantly obvious Gryffindor does when they're caught out doing something strange. She ignored the situation completely.

The boys, it seemed, did as well. Harry just looked happy to see his other best friend again whilst Ron was squinting at her like there was something strange on her face.

Hermione stared at him, baffled, when he continued to ogle at her like she had sprout antlers.

"Herms," Ron muttered, leaning forward slightly as if that would give him a better look at whatever he was squinting at. "Smile for me?"

Hermione gave him a look like he was crazy. What on earth was he on about? "Excuse me?"

"You know... smile," Ron instructed, demonstrating a smile to her as if she were an idiot. He even went so far as to prod the corners of her mouth with the tips of his fingers and attempt to pull them up.

Hermione shoo'd him away with an amused, "Ron! Let go of my mouth."

"Just smile, Herms," Ron prodded, attempting to gain access to the corners of her mouth again.

Hermione giggled and couldn't help but smile when Ron practically wrestled with her to gain access to the corners of her mouth.

"Aha!" Ron crowed triumphantly, pointing at her with a long finger. "I knew it! You have fangs!"

"I – what?" Hermione spluttered, stepping back a step, lifting a hand to her lips. Despite herself, Hermione felt her cheeks heat up in a blush when everyone moved to get a closer look at her teeth, even Dumbledore craned his neck to see better.

Harry gave her a smile though he looked more baffled than anything. "What on earth have you been up to, Hermione?"

Hermione's eyes flashed to Fenrir's at the memory of _that_ particular incident. It seemed that he was reminiscing as well since the corners of his mouth were twitching amusedly. Hermione nearly scowled at him. Of course he would look back at her hissy fit and find it amusing.

Hermione slowly lowered her hand and answered softly, attempting to not move her lips more than possible, "I had... a bit of... an accident." She paused when a small snort of amusement sounded from Fenrir's direction. Her eyes narrowed but she didn't look at him. "I had so much free time that I figured I might as well continue with some theories I had always wanted to research. One of them was seeing if I could alter Animagus transformations to only change certain aspects of the body and not the whole form. My first try didn't go very well. I'm now stuck with pointy canines."

She gave them a sheepish, close-mouthed smile.

It was then that Harry started laughing a full belly laugh til tears streamed down his face. He sounded quite hysterical actually.

"Geez... Hermione – " he hiccupped before continuing, " – you go into... h-hiding... and you still... manage to do – "he hiccupped again, though this time it sounded like more of a full blown sob, " - experiments...bloody hell..."

It was a few seconds until Hermione realised that he wasn't crying due to his laughter.

She quickly rushed over to him and enfolded him in a motherly hug. Harry clasped her to him tightly, mumbling things into her hair about how he thought he had lost another member of his family, and how he felt responsible for everyone dying around him. Hermione merely held him tighter in response.

How on earth could she question her bond with these two boys? Sure, their friendship probably wouldn't have happened if they had gone to a 'normal' school where there wasn't a crazy lunatic trying to kill them. They were too different, she knew that. But that didn't change the fact that she was friends with them _now_. She could live without them, but her life would be a much lonelier place. She didn't need these boys around, but she wanted them desperately, if only to get her annoyed by their blatant lack of hard work.

They were her best friends, despite their differences.

She felt Ron encircle both of them, though he was mumbling something about women with fangs being hot. She giggled girlishly, waited for Harry to calm himself down and surreptitiously wipe his eyes of any stray tears. She pulled back, and cupped his thin face in her small hands.

Hermione gave him a warm smile and kissed him on the cheek, mumbling about how much she missed him.

Ron quickly scurried around and gave her an expectant look, his blue eyes wide with what seemed to be innocence. He even went so far as to lean down and turn his cheek to her, pointing a long finger to the freckled skin and saying, "Right there, Mi."

Hermione smiled, and shook her head before kissing him on the cheek too. "I missed you too, Ron."

He grinned boyishly down at her and ruffled her hair like a big brother would.

At that moment, a low rumbling caught Hermione's attention and she turned to look at Fenrir. He looked impassive, but there were obvious signs that he was definitely not happy. His mouth was pulled into a thin line and she could see the muscle on his jaw work as he grinded his teeth. The low growl, however, was a dead giveaway to everyone, and they all switched their gazes to him.

Hermione looked at him inquisitively, frowning in confusion. Why was he so –

Oh.

She remembered now. The 'no-touching-other-males' rule.

Oops.

Well, it was kind of late now. All she could do was hope he wouldn't blow up and rub himself all over her when everyone else was in front of them.

She gave the boys another smile, and returned to Fenrir's side. As expected, he wrapped his large arm around her waist, and pulled her to his side possessively, his eyes scanning the room like a seasoned predator, surveying each and every threat in front of him.

She placed her own small hand over the one that was splayed over her diaphragm protectively, and stroked the skin in small, soothing circles.

She waited until she felt him relax a little next to her before addressing Dumbledore, "so, what now?"


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance   
Chapter 19

'You Will Not Fight'  
.

Dumbledore formulated a plan quickly, though Hermione wasn't particularly surprised about that. He had fought in battles against both Grindelwald and Voldemort, and had always orchestrated the fights with such high levels of accuracy that Hermione had little doubt in his ability to save as many lives as he could. McGonagall was quickly ushered to go find the other head's of houses so that they could go and evacuate the underage children along with those that did not wish to fight. Tonks, Kingsley, and a few others that Hermione didn't recognise, were sent to gather the rest of the Order members to fight. Harry and Ron, much to their reluctance, were sent with Snape and the rest of the present Order members to reinforce the wards around the school.

Dumbledore then turned to the group of Death Eater's and gave them a grave, albeit twinkling, smile. "I am glad you have changed, my dear men. I had feared you would never come to realise the downfall of following one such as Voldemort."

The group of men hissed, but they nodded in thanks to him anyways.

Dumbledore then continued, "You'd better leave the grounds though. I fear that it would be better to stay away from the school even if I put up wards protect outsiders from locating your marks within my office. You never know when a ward might drop. We don't need any more men being discovered as a traitor to the darkness."

The men murmured their agreements, and said their polite goodbyes before exiting through the Floo once more.

As soon as the room was empty, Fenrir spun Hermione around in his arms and started rubbing himself all over her, much like a territorial dog would. He nuzzled his head against her neck and face, and engulfed her smaller form in his arms, rubbing his hands up and down her back, across her shoulders, over her hips and thighs, making sure to touch every part of her that he could and drown out the scent of the boys that she had hugged earlier.

"What did I tell you about touching other men, hm?" he growled, though there was a softness to his voice that told Hermione that he knew that her memory had simply slipped on the rule, and wouldn't punish her quite as viciously as he might have if she had purposefully broken it.

His movements slowed down and became languid as his nose skimmed her new mark. Hermione's eyes snapped open in surprise when she felt him kiss the mark softly instead of bite it like he usually did on the older mark. A wave of easy euphoria washed over her, and she leaned against him, smiling at his gentle caresses. It was like the past few hours hadn't happened; like she hadn't been bedridden for the good part of the day because he left her.

As long as he stayed, she would be alright.

"I'm sorry, I forgot," Hermione mumbled into his chest, clutching his trench coat in her little hands, not wanting to let him go.

He chuckled from deep within his chest and raised his head enough to rumble softly in her ear, "I'll be sure to punish you appropriately when I get back to the cabin."

Hermione felt a shiver crawl up her spine at the implication of his words. Oh, she couldn't wait to see how he would 'punish' her when they got back from the battle.

' _If,'_ she reminded herself, ' _if we get back from the battle.'_

Reluctantly, Hermione pulled herself out of his arms and murmured, "I need to find professor Dumbledore."

Fenrir stopped her by grasping her hand and pulling her back. He nuzzled her temple playfully, drawing a short giggle from the little woman in his arms.

He then asked, "And what do you need him for?"

Hermione pushed at his chest and he allowed her to move back a little so that she could look up at him with a warm smile. "I need to know what I must do before the battle. I can't just sit around doing nothing can I?"

"Mm," he hummed in agreement as he dipped his head to nuzzle her affectionately once more. "Come back and meet me here at eleven. No later."

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the demand, but complied with a nod anyways.

"I'll see you later," she said as a farewell before they parted ways.

As soon as she started walking away from him, she felt the uncomfortable tugging start in her chest once again. Her step faltered slightly as dread washed over her. How on earth was she meant to battle against Death Eater's with this hanging over her? It obviously coincided with Fenrir's distance from her - that much was for certain.

She came to a stumbling halt, her hand flying out to clasp the wall and steady herself as her soul gave a sudden lurch. It was then that she knew that Fenrir had left through the floo. He felt further away. Much further.

Hermione took a deep, shuddering breath, and leant on the wall heavily, rubbing her chest as her insides writhed and thrashed within her.

It took her a few minutes before she attempted to continue down the hall. She managed it, but by the time she had gotten down the stairs into the Great Hall (via shortcuts) she was breathing heavily, and felt just as sick as she did before. There were small sweat droplets on her forehead and upper lip. She felt clammy, and shuddered with even the smallest of movements. Her insides knotted and twisted within her in protest.

"Hermione?"

Said woman jumped violently, and spun around to see the source of the voice calling her name.

Ron was standing there, a worried frown marring his features. "You alright there?"

Hermione swallowed thickly, and nodded.

"You sure?"

She nodded again.

Ron walked up to her and grasped her elbow anyways, as if making sure she would at least stay upright.

He smiled down at her softly and murmured in an uncharacteristically tender voice, "We really missed you, Mi."

Hermione smiled up at him, feeling warmth spread through her body at his words. "I really missed you guys too."

Her face fell into a worried expression. "How have you guys been?"

Ron laughed a broken, cracked laugh, and ran a hand through his hair. "We thought you were dead." He then paused and levelled her with a stare that had shivers running down Hermione's spine. His eyes looked dead with sorrow. He then continued with a whisper, "Dumbledore led us to believe you were dead. He didn't even try to..." he took a deep, calming breath, "it's been bloody awful."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione mumbled, her face scrunching as a sob welled up in her chest. Now she felt guilty. She had caused a huge amount of sorrow in her best friends. How long had they searched for her whilst she knew that she was alive? Did they hold a funeral service for her when she was happily living in a cabin deep within the Scottish highlands?

"Oh no," Ron muttered, looking alarmed at the tears welling up in Hermione's eyes. "No, no, no, no, no. No, Hermione, don't cry," Ron pleaded, his voice cracking as tears welled up in his eyes as well, "please, don't cry Hermione! You'll make me cry too!"

Hermione hiccupped, and held a hand to her chest, "I'm s-sorry (hiccup), Ron. I c- (hiccup) can't help mys-self."

Ron drew her into a hug.

"'S' all my f-fault!" Hermione wailed into his chest.

"Oh, sweetheart," Ron cooed, rubbing her back in small, smooth circles. "It's not your fault. You were simply following orders."

Hermione didn't answer but her wails quietened down into sniffles.

"You're back now and that's all that matters," Ron soothed, pulling back to look her in the face and give her a reassuring smile.

Hermione gave him a watery smile in return. She wiped her dribbling nose on her sleeve in an unladylike gesture before she stood back, and took a deep, calming breath.

She sank down on the stone steps on the grand staircase, and muttered, "Sorry about that... emotional outburst. It's just been a really trying day, you know? First I get sick when Fenrir leaves, and now seeing everyone again after ten months, and then I start to feel sick again now that he's gone. It's a lot to go through in one day."

Ron nodded and sank down on the steps next to her. "Yeah, I understand."

There was a short, companionable silence between the two, before Ron spoke again.

"So, what's going on between you and Greyback?"

Hermione's head snapped around.

She spluttered for a response, "Wha'd'you – I c – nothing, I – Ron, listen –"

The redhead chuckled and held up his hand to stop her.

"Take a deep breath," he instructed, and Hermione acquiesced. When she exhaled Ron continued, " _Now_ explain."

"I – well..." Hermione mumbled, wringing her fingers together. She didn't want to lie to him. Not after the colossal lie that she had put him through after faking her death. That, and she was just too tired to fight against curling into a ball because of the sickened soul due to Fenrir's distance, _and_ fight with lying to him. It was too much. "W-we're _involved_ , you know?"

Ron nodded calmly. "I thought so."

Hermione sent him a rather alarmed look. Ron was being... _calm?_

_What on earth...?_

She abruptly sat up and pressed a palm to his forehead and muttered through a cheeky smile, "Ron, are you alright? You're acting like an adult! Please tell me you're not dying!"

Ron giggled and shrugged her off him with a boyish grin.

"Nah," he replied, bumping shoulders with her, "just realised there's more important stuff than fighting all the time. If you trust him not to kill all of us, then I won't get in your way. I just don't wanna lose you again."

His expression then turned graver, "you do realise that he has killed people before, right? There's proof."

Hermione nodded soberly. "I know. But there's a side to him that no one else sees, Ron. He's really quite nice underneath all that fur."

The redhead nodded, and smiled down at her once more, looking as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "Promise you won't die before me. I can't go through that again."

Hermione felt tears pricking her eyes again and nodded, giving him a shaky, saddened smile.

She really had broken them.

-0-0-0-0-

Eleven o'clock rolled around none too quickly. Hermione had been forced into the hospital wing by a worried Harry and Ron when she had suddenly collapsed. Her soul had lurched again, this time feeling like it would jump out of her throat as Fenrir suddenly moved further away from her, probably to the very southern tip of England if the thrashing within her was anything to go by.

Madam Pomfrey had fussed over her, giving her Pepper Up potion and the works, to try and reduce Hermione's symptoms. It took the elderly matron a full half hour to realise that no potion or spell was going to relieve Hermione of her strange symptoms, and so she pulled out the big guns. She went and retrieved Severus.

Snape, upon seeing who the patient was, sneered at the older woman and brushed her off with a simple, "stop wasting my time, you old trout. She's not dying."

Hermione had spat out her mouthful of water at his name for the matron, before studiously ignoring the screeching that followed.

No matter how much the elderly matron prodded him, Snape didn't give in and inspect Hermione. Hermione knew that he knew what was wrong with her. She also knew that he didn't want to be the one to tell them what was wrong with her either. If he didn't tell her in the cabin, then he wouldn't tell her mere hours later in a hospital wing.

It was now five past, and Hermione was getting niggly. Fenrir had told her to meet him in Dumbledore's office at eleven and Madam Pomfrey wouldn't allow her to leave her bed. What would Fenrir do when he realised that she had disobeyed orders? He most certainly wouldn't be happy, that much was for sure.

He didn't scare her anymore. She wasn't worried that he might lash out at her. She knew he wouldn't unless he was provoked. No, what worried her was disappointing him. He had asked her to meet him in Dumbledore's office at eleven, no later, and here she was stuck in a hospital bed, unable to move.

Surely that would make him unhappy.

A sudden warm flare in Hermione's chest announced his arrival, and, despite herself, she smiled, relaxing against the pillows as relief washed over her. Although she knew he was practically on the other side of the castle, the close range between them significantly lessened the ache within her chest into a dull roar. It was much like a throbbing toe after you stubbed it; easily ignored, but there all the same.

She felt another flare, but this time there was a subtle tenor to it, like something had rubbed against it the wrong way.

Annoyance.

Ah, that was a new development. She could feel his emotions. Her colossal mental powers allowed her to immediately deduct that it wasn't her that could possibly feel annoyed. There was nothing in her environment that would prompt it – unless you could count Snape's scowl as something that would suddenly flare one's annoyance – but that theory was quickly brushed away since she had lived with the man for seven years as a teacher and not once did she feel _annoyed_ by his scowl.

That, and there was a distinct 'out of body' feeling that came with the sensation of annoyance, like it was a part of her, but not at the same time.

There was, however, a sudden sensation of frustrated confusion that flared up within her that had a distinct 'within body' tenor. And she knew exactly where it originated from.

Ever since Fenrir had bitten her this morning she had been overpowered by strange symptoms all day. Firstly, there was the debilitating discomfort that flared within her chest at his distance. There were then the more physical symptoms, such as sweating and heart palpitations, that would surface at his prolonged absence. And now, there were the empathic abilities that she had just discovered.

Clearly she wasn't ill with some sort of strange sickness. This was more like some sort of curse.

And Fenrir most definitely was the one she would be speaking to about it.

' _Oh, speak of the devil.'_ She didn't even need to look up to know it was Fenrir that had just banged open the hospital doors. If the resounding waves of trepidation didn't tell her that, then the feral growls that reverberated around the room certainly did.

"Where is she?" she heard Fenrir snarl.

A small, womanly squeak and a metallic crash made Hermione sit bolt upright before jumping out of her bed. She hastily shoved the curtains from surrounding her cot and felt shock envelope her at seeing that Fenrir had pinned Madam Pomfrey against one of the hospital beds, one of his clawed hands around the matron's elderly neck.

"Fenrir!" Hermione exclaimed, scrambling over to him.

His head snapped around, and Hermione saw a crazed look in his eye as he pinned her with his gaze. His hair was more rumpled than usual, as if he had been running his hands through the tangled mess, or scrunching it up in his fingers. The muscles in his back were bunched with tension.

Upon seeing the little wild-haired woman running towards him, Fenrir dropped the old bag, and rushed towards Hermione. He swept her up in his arms, immediately burying his nose into her hair and taking deep, soothing breaths of her sweet scent.

Hermione clung to him, not sure how to take what he had just done. He had just had one of the nicest people she knew by the neck, surely intent on killing the older woman if she didn't give him the answers he craved. On the other hand, Hermione understood why he had reacted the way he did. She understood that having not met him in Dumbledore's office, and then figuring out that she was in the hospital wing, would send any man into a frenzy. His animal instincts screamed at him to protect her, and she understood that, had he not thought she was in danger, he wouldn't have had the woman in a death grip upon arrival.

Both were convincing arguments, and Hermione was at a loss of what to do. She most certainly wouldn't 'pick sides,' as it were. His actions were both dangerous and endearing at the same time.

Slowly, he pulled back, and held her at arm's length for a few seconds, before he started fussing over her.

"What happened? Are you alright? You aren't ill are you? Maybe you should –"

"Hush," Hermione soothed, rubbing his forearms sweetly, "I'm fine now, though I do have a few questions for you regarding this new bite mark."

Fenrir grimaced upon hearing her questions but nodded all the same.

Hermione continued before he could start babbling again, "but right now I need to tend to Madam Pomfrey."

"Who?" Fenrir asked.

Hermione sent a pointed look to the floor where said woman was lying, having passed out from, no doubt, sheer terror at being nearly suffocated by Europe's most infamous werewolf.

"Ah."

Madam Pomfrey had gone into hysterics upon being revived. Against her better judgement, the older woman had screeched at Fenrir nonstop for the good part of ten minutes. The werewolf, bless his heart, simply sat there and took it without as much as a growl. It was probably the small hand resting on his thigh that stopped him from jumping up and dominating the older woman like he would have on another person. That and she would probably snap in half if Fenrir really tried to dominate her anyways.

Hermione quickly placated the older woman with a series of apologies and reassurances that the elderly matron wouldn't see Fenrir again anytime soon.

And with that, Fenrir herded Hermione out of the hospital wing, tugging her along behind him as he hurried up the staircases towards Dumbledore's office.

"Remind me again why we need to go to Dumbledore's office in particular?" Hermione panted, trotting behind him.

Fenrir stopped and turned to level her with a confused frown. Hermione lurched to a stop behind him, nearly bumping into his back.

"How else are you going to get back to the cabin safely?"

"Why are we going back to the cabin?" Hermione asked, feeling just as confused as he looked.

"No, not we," Fenrir clarified, frowning ever deeper, " _you."_

"What do you mean _me_?" Hermione asked, nonplussed. "How on earth would I be able to fight from the cabin? I'm needed here."

By the end of Hermione's sentence, Fenrir's expression had turned thunderous. He gripped her to him tightly, growling low in his chest.

"Fenrir?" Hermione asked timidly, a little intimidated. She couldn't understand why he so suddenly became angry.

He was looking at her as if he were about to rip her head right off.

Hermione squeaked loudly when he suddenly threw her over his shoulder like a caveman, and started walking down the hallway with large, purposeful strides, the dangerous rumble in his chest getting louder when Hermione struggled in his arms.

"Fenrir, what are you doing?" Hermione demanded, her voice a little shrill. "Put me down!"

"And let you wander off?" Fenrir asked, his voice considerably lighter than his expression, "you wish, girlie."

Hermione muttered in horror as she realised what Fenrir was doing, "Oh, no."

"Oh, yes," Fenrir answered with conviction.

"No!" Hermione shrieked, thrashing about, thumping and kicking for him to let go of her. She even went so far as pulling his hair. "No! You are _not_ making me stay in the cabin for this battle! The boys need me! I can't leave them again! Put me down, you buffoon!"

She watched with morbid satisfaction at how his back muscles bunched in pain when she clawed her nails slowly up his back.

"I'm not letting you fight!" he roared right back, his stride not once faltering as she struggled to get away from him.

"You're not the boss of me!" Hermione screeched, thumping him hard in the kidneys.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance   
Chapter 20

'To Murder the One You Love'  
.

Harry and Professor Dumbledore looked up from their plans when they heard a pair of voices carrying up the hallway. Both, it seemed, were yelling at each other with all they had. Both of the men watched as Fenrir Greyback carried a shrieking Hermione Granger over his shoulder across the hall, and start his way up the staircase, Hermione's little body bouncing roughly as the werewolf flounced up the staircase with animal-like grace.

Harry stared at the empty corridor long after the pair had disappeared from sight.

"What do you make of the pair, my boy?"

Harry turned and met the twinkling blue eyes of his mentor.

"I can honestly say," Harry answered slowly, "he's a murderer, and yet..."

"There's something about him that makes it seem like they could be good for each other," Dumbledore answered.

Harry frowned in thought. He didn't really agree with Dumbledore's assumption, but he didn't voice his opinion.

Instead, he murmured, "He can certainly match her temper, that's for sure."

Dumbledore chuckled.

"Maybe I should go and help her," Harry murmured unsurely. From what he had heard, Greyback was trying to protect his little friend, not hurt her.

"She will be fine, Harry," Dumbledore assured, his blue eyes twinkling merrily, "he is simply making sure that she doesn't fight. I understand that she is not in the best condition to battle in any case. Do not worry. He will not hurt her."

"How can you trust him?" Harry asked. "Like I said, he's a murderer. Why would he turn to the light when there would be more chances to kill if he stayed on the dark side?"

Dumbledore smiled mysteriously and answered in his cryptic way, "even the vilest of men would do anything to protect their families."

-0-0-0-0-

Fenrir had finally had enough when Hermione's foot came dangerously close to his groin. He all but flung her from his shoulder and crushed her against the wall with his body, holding her flailing hands out of the way by grasping her wrists tightly above her head.

"I am not letting you fight and that's the end of it!" he roared, snarling down at her.

She glared back at him defiantly, attempting to squirm away again.

"You're not going to convince me otherwise," Hermione spat back, attempting to stomp on his feet, only to succeed in hurting her heel as her thin shoes provided no barrier against the steel caps within his boots. "I'm fighting and you can't do anything to stop me! You have no claim over what I do!"

She started squirming wildly, her head thrashing back and forth.

He only pinned her further underneath his bulk. "I'm not going to risk my happiness just so you can go gallivanting off with those boys playing hero!"

Hermione's head stopped thrashing and she stared at him wide-eyed. His happiness depended on her?

"I'm not going to lose you," he murmured, his voice much softer, with an undertone of sadness that laced through his melodic timbre. His hands softened around her wrists and he leaned forward to rest his temple against hers. His arms dropped from her wrists and instead wound around Hermione's waist, clutching her to him tightly. "I won't. Not when I've just found you. You're not... I c- I can't..."

Hermione felt her heart break. Fenrir was not one to talk about his feelings, and an admission such as this... she was sure it was as close to a declaration of love as he would give her.

He sounded so broken.

Hermione sagged against him and wound her arms around his neck, burying her head underneath his chin. They clung to each other for they didn't know how long, mutual waves of adoration radiating through their empathic connection, soothing their souls from the previous fiery roar of their anger.

She mumbled something into his neck that he didn't quite catch.

"Hmm?" he hummed in question. "Say that again."

Hermione pulled back and looked him dead in the eye, her expression tense, yet fiercely determined. "You won't lose me."

"You cannot be sure of that," he retorted almost instantly.

"I won't let it happen," Hermione answered, moving her arms from around his neck to cup his face gently. "But I have to do this."

Anger flashed in Fenrir's eyes for a second before his expression saddened again. He physically drooped in defeat and Hermione, for a second, thought she had won.

He took a deep breath and then murmured, "Then I have to do this."

The last thing Hermione remembered before her world went black was the sight of Fenrir pointing his wand at her.

-0-0-0-0-

The clock struck twelve with a dozen gongs of one of the Malfoy grandfather clocks. The army of Death Eater's had convened once more in the grand atrium to await their orders on how to proceed into battle. The inner circle of Death Eater's were called first and led into a drawing room. Fenrir had raised a slightly disbelieving smile at this. Even within his ranks, the Dark Lord did not trust his own men to stay loyal. He would bet an arm and a leg that the Dark Lord had taken the inner circle away from the rest of his army because he was afraid of certain ears hearing certain plans. Most likely, he was showing them which wave of men would die quickest so that they could slip in unharmed.

There were kids there who were barely of legal age. Fenrir doubted they would last two minutes in a real battle. They were the decoys, for lack of a better word. They would be the ones to rush out first, overeager and inexperienced. These would be the ones to die quickly.

The ones that would be sent out second were those in the lower ranks who were of questionable breeding or hadn't proved themselves worthy of being inducted into the inner circle. They would be the ones to breach the castle. They would also be the second to die. They would be the ones that would fall into the traps that the Order had set up around the castle.

The third wave would consist of the smaller scale financial brokers and those that had proven themselves to be different than the cronies in the lower level Death Eater ranks. They were the 'social climbers,' those that had talent, but not enough sense or determination to climb any higher. They would fight the remaining lower level Order members.

And lastly, there was the inner circle. Full of purebloods of such high levels of inbreeding that it seemed there were some serious malfunctions, such as hereditary madness, that ran through each and every individual. They were also the richest, most slippery group of men and women that Fenrir had ever met. These were the individuals that you didn't want to cross. They would come out when the battle was nearing an end. Unsurprisingly, this was also when the Order members were tired of battle, and thus were weakened. The inner circle members were brutal with their duelling skills. The few Order members that were lucky enough to be alive by that point would have to have nine remaining lives to be able to walk away from the fight alive.

Fenrir was in a subdivision. He was notorious for his ability to stay completely silent whilst tracking something. The last time he had been called into a battle, he had been used as a Snatcher. He didn't fight so much as steal certain people that were too important to kill. From there, they would either be used for ransom, beaten for sport, or were interrogated. Some women were used as mistresses for a member of the inner circle, but this was only if they were particularly pretty or intriguing since the inner circle members didn't want to sully themselves with blood traitors or those they deemed to have a tarnished breeding. By the end of it, though, each and every person that was taken away from the battle was eventually killed.

His attention was brought away from his thoughts as the inner circle returned to the grand atrium, their noses lifted in haughty condescension.

The whole army fell silent, watching their master as he stood in the centre of the room, his red eyes gliding over the horde of men before him.

Finally, his eyes fell on Fenrir, and established a mental connection.

' _Come. Bring the Snatchers.'_

Fenrir nodded and shifted through the crowd, silently scenting his second in command, Scaboir.

He broke through a crowd of sneering purebloods and finally caught scent of him. It wasn't that hard to distinguish the little rat from the hundreds of other people gathered in the atrium. He was one of the few people that seemed to have a permanent, lingering scent of booze and sex on his skin.

He followed the scent til he came to a dark corner in the room. He rolled his eyes when he saw Scabior leaning against the wall, peering at the other Death Eater's from the hood of his jacket. The little poser.

"Stop trying to be ominous and get your shit together," Fenrir growled at the whelp, making Scabior just about jump out of his skin from fright.

"Geez, Greyback, give a bloke some warnin'!" Scabior exclaimed, running a dirty hand through his long hair nervously.

Fenrir grunted, and ignored his comment. "Get the others. The Dark Lord wants us."

"Uh... yeah... right," Scabior murmured, rushing off to get the others. Fenrir turned and was on his way to the drawing room where the Dark Lord had moved to when he heard a harried mumble from Scabior, "bloody 'ell."

Fenrir chuckled darkly and continued to his destination.

It took Scabior a full five minuted to locate the rest of the Snatchers, and by that time Fenrir had already taken a seat in the small drawing room, having carefully chosen his seat so that his back would be facing a far corner in the room. From this location, he could easily watch the Dark Lord, the door, and the other Snatchers quite easily. As long as no one stood directly behind him, he would be able to see all of them quite easily.

As soon as everyone was settled, the Dark Lord spoke, "I have a list of Undesirables that I wish for you men to capture during the battle. Don't focus on bringing down Order members. I need these people to be brought in. They have valuable information that is vital to The Cause."

The Dark Lord passed the sheets of paper over to Fenrir with a slight sneer. Their fingers brushed and the Dark Lord pulled back as if Fenrir was a leper. Had this been any other person, Fenrir would have probably mauled them for their lack of respect, but he figured – what with an army of faithful followers just outside the door – that attacking the wizard would be detrimental to his lifespan.

"The people are ranked by importance," the Dark Lord explained, speaking slowly, as if they were a group of morons. "You'll see when you look, that there are red numbers at the top right hand corners of each personal profile. The scale is from 'one' to 'ten'. A 'one' is most important. If you cross their paths, you do everything within your power to bring them down. If they're a 'ten', bring them in, but if they cause too much of a hassle, don't exhaust yourself by fighting with them. Go look for someone more important."

The group murmured their understanding, and the Dark Lord quickly dismissed them. They quickly exited the room, all of them, including Fenrir, feeling rather uncomfortable being in the Dark Lord's presence for a prolonged amount of time.

Predictably, when the Dark Lord entered the atrium once more and summoned another group of Death Eater's, the whole army of men fell silent. Fenrir watched with sharp eyes as the Dark Lord's gaze honed in on a low ranking half-blood who looked like he hadn't seen the good side of a bar of soap in a couple of decades.

The two men stared at each other silently for a few seconds before the Dark Lord turned and walked into the small parlour once again.

Fenrir turned around again when the door closed behind his master, and he followed the scents of Scabior and the rest of the Snatchers so that he could get them to familiarise themselves with their targets.

When Fenrir stood before them silently, Scabior spoke up, rubbing his hands together, "righto, let's take a looksee, shall we?"

Fenrir simply nodded, too tired to growl at the insolent whelp.

He sighed heavily and looked at the first profile on the pile. "Kingsley Shacklebolt. Six feet and two inches, male, African American, age is forty-three. Bald with brown eyes. Defining features include a jagged scar running from his left temple and over his left ear. Skills include high level duelling and memory modification. Weaknesses include slight blindness in left eye and high level shields. He is a level 1 target."

Fenrir stopped and passed the parchment to Scabior who looked at it himself before passing it to one of the others.

Fenrir waited until the rest of the Snatchers had looked before taking back the paper. He looked down at the next profile on the paper and started reading out the details once again. "Nymphadora Tonks, five feet and seven inches, Caucasian, age is twenty-eight. Hair and eye colour are unknown. Defining features are not applicable as Undesirable is a metamorphogous..."

And so it continued. The profiles were, thankfully, fairly easy to remember since those that they were meant to capture were well known Order members. In the end, there were only really ten members that they would really look out for. The rest were inconsequential members that Fenrir had difficulty understanding why the Dark Lord wanted them to be captured.

"– level 7 target," Fenrir continued, boredom undeniably wriggling its way under his skin. "Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody. Five feet and ten inches, male, cauca-"

Fenrir was promptly cut off by a shrieking cackle. His head snapped around only to find a manic Bellatrix Lestrange dancing around the crouching form of Rabastan Lestrange.

Apparently, she was bored out of her mind already. Good god, couldn't she hold still for a few minutes? She was probably getting fidgety waiting to attack Hogwarts.

Fenrir bit down a growl, his eyes sweeping around the room to find Rodolphus. He knew that Rodolphus, despite appearances, was fiercely protective of his younger brother. His wife torturing Rabastan surely would not go down well.

Ah, there he was. Fenrir watched with keen eyes as Rodolphus strode up to his wife, his eyes dancing with fury. The pureblood grasped Bellatrix's upper arm in a vice-like grip, and he hauled her around to face him.

Had it been quieter in the room, Fenrir would have easily been able to hear what the pair was saying to each other, but with the amount of chatter in the room, Fenrir found it almost impossible to single out the distinctive tenors in the two voices.

Too distracted in the new events in the atrium, Fenrir shoved Moody's profile to Scabior and barked for him to read out the rest of the details. Fenrir was only half listening to Scabior's terrible pronunciation before he turned back to Rodolphus and Bellatrix.

He watched as the couple quietly bickered, Rodolphus' face slowly contorting into one of absolute abhorrence, and Bellatrix's souring into a petulant glare. She looked like a little child who hadn't gotten her toy when she wanted it.

The pair hissed to each other for a little longer, Bellatrix even going so far as to stamp her foot like a spoiled brat before she stormed off in a huff, her fists clenched at her sides.

Fenrir couldn't help but chuckle darkly. It was nice to see the snob be put in her place so publicly. It was quite refreshing.

With a satisfied smile, Fenrir turned back to the pile of papers, and found that he had gotten to the last Undesirable. He didn't know who it was yet because the Dark Lord had pinned a note onto the profile.

.  
 _Wanted dead. Only for you to track. Do not let me down._  
.

Fenrir frowned at the note, and plucked it from the profile. Upon seeing the picture on the Undesirable's profile, Fenrir felt his stomach drop.

It was Hermione. And it seemed as if she had gathered enough attention for the Dark Lord to call him to track her. This was serious, and Fenrir could only stare at the moving picture of her dumbly. His mind was reeling, and yet nothing within it was making sense. He was in deep shit now.

As he gazed down at the moving picture of his future mate, Fenrir was dimly aware of the grandfather clock striking one, and the Dark Lord roaring his instructions for the Death Eater's to make their way to Hogwarts.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance   
Chapter 21

'Baby Daddy'  
.

Spells, bodies, and rubble from the castle walls were flying in every which direction. The fighting had been going on for hours. It was almost dawn, and both sides were quickly tiring. Pulling an all-nighter was hard enough without the stress of battle weighing down on you. Even Fenrir, with his regenerative abilities, was starting to feel rather worn out.

He was having a rather hard time of pretending to be a Death Eater whilst he surreptitiously took out other Death Eater's with 'badly aimed' spells. It was actually much harder than he thought it would be. He would have to appear to be aiming at an Order member, whilst actually aiming at a Death Eater. This was difficult because you would have to have your wand pointed in the general direction of the Order member, which then risked actually hitting said Order member with a nasty spell.

It was also becoming increasingly hard not to hex the morons from the Order since they still seemed to take vicious pride in sending nasty stinging hexes to parts of his body that shouldn't be stung. More than once he had been forced to his knees by the pain in his groin. He would be lying if he denied having tears in his eyes after the twelfth time it happened. He may be a werewolf, but any man wouldn't handle being stung in the nads over a dozen times. He would make sure to threaten a few of them with circumcision without painkillers when the battle was over.

And then, to top it all off, he was meant to be sniffing out Hermione Granger to kill her.

That, in itself, was enough to drive him teeth-grinding bonkers. That was completely out of the question. He couldn't kill her, that much had been established early on. For some reason, he had used her position as a researcher for the potion as a reason why he couldn't beat her up. She was a worthless human - a disrespectful one at that - and yet, right from the start, there was always the hesitation before he did anything violent towards her. Even when she needed to be reminded who was boss, he would always go easy on her. Shove her around, squeeze her neck, yes, but he never beat her. Never once struck her. At first, that had been disconcerting and just a little bit infuriating. Now, he was rather grateful. He knew that, if he had ever properly hit her, she would have been terrified of him. And that just wasn't acceptable. She was much better as a disrespectful, fiery, young mate-to-be, than a quivering, cowardly, submissive human.

So killing her was out of the question. The only option left was to bring her in front of the Dark Lord, and watch him kill her instead. That, most definitely, was out of the question as well. Sure, they could orchestrate an elaborate escape plan, but what if that didn't work? What if she was caught, and put to death? No, he couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't.

She was too precious just to let go. Just to hand over.

He would fight for her, even if the Dark Lord didn't realise it.

But then what was he to do? How was he going to get out of capturing Hermione, and live himself? The Dark Lord would know he was up to something if he said he couldn't find her. Fenrir had built himself too much of a notorious reputation as a tracker _not_ to find her. It would be too suspicious, especially as the prey was an inexperienced twenty-two year old human. Humans were much too easy to sniff out. A human in their early twenties... well, it was hard _not_ to smell a female human in heat.

And the biggest problem in the whole situation was that Fenrir couldn't think of a single way out of it. He was shoulder deep in dragon shit, and he knew it.

Fenrir sighed. He hated the feeling of helplessness. It wasn't a sensation that he encountered often. He was usually the one making others feel helpless. Not often was he put in a vulnerable position.

And yet, again, he couldn't muster up the energy to feel bitter towards Hermione. She was his one weakness, he knew that, and yet he still kept her proudly. As long as she she didn't land herself in danger, he was happy. Fenrir would willingly walk through Hell and back just to keep that woman safe.

On the other hand, Hell sounded a lot better than returning to the Dark Lord empty handed.

-0-0-0-0-

Fenrir's mind was reeling as he wondered down one of the few empty corridors in the castle, his hands buried deeply in his pockets. He was quite relaxed. He didn't have to be on his guard. Humans were too loud-footed to actually surprise him.

Naturally, it then did come as a surprise when he heard the telltale flare of a spell being fired. He spun around, his eyes going wide at the sight of bronze sparks flying directly towards him. He ducked just in time, the spell whooshing over his head, the air ruffling his dirty hair.

"Remmy!" Fenrir exclaimed, his eyes wide.

"Don't call me that," spat the werewolf at the other end of the corridor, his wand aimed straight at Fenrir's chest.

Fenrir sighed heavily and stood once more, growling grudgingly, "Remus, then. What're you doing here then, pup?"

As Fenrir gazed upon his prodigy, he couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed in the pup. Remus had so much potential. He was a bright lad, but he was corrupted by his parents early. Even as an eight-year-old, he had thought his condition a curse.

"If I could kill you, I would," Remus hissed, slowly striding towards Fenrir, his wand raised, his eyes flashing with fury. "But I'm under strict orders not to."

"You wouldn't be able to kill me anyways, pup," Fenrir commented, smirking. The pup's wolf nature was too repressed for him to pose much of a threat. He would be lucky to land a scratch on Fenrir if he tried, let alone actually kill him.

Remus snarled, and Fenrir watched him intently. Remus' hair was standing on end, his hackles raised. Ah, so the pup wasn't as repressed as he thought. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.

Fenrir felt his lips tug wider into a grin. He wondered how far Remus would go if he goaded him.

Well, now was as good a time as any.

"You're too weak to do anything than sit there helplessly, pup," Fenrir growled, a malicious grin marring his features. He would have to make the pup even angrier than he was now if he wanted a real response. "I'm surprised that spell even came as close as it did. Beginner's luck, Remmy. Don't count on getting so close again."

Remus growled low in his chest, swallowing so as not to snarl again. He closed his eyes tight for a second before they snapped open once more to land on Fenrir. Identical coloured eyes locked and the two men stared each other down. Fenrir, being the alpha, won quickly. Remus dropped his eyes to the floor, and Fenrir felt a small surge of victory. He quietly walked to Remus, intending on passing him to see what he would do.

He stopped when their shoulders were parallel to each other, and murmured. "I heard your little bitch had a pup. You do know it's not yours, right?"

Fenrir knew by the angry snarl rumbling in Remus' chest that the pup was going to attack. He didn't move when Remmy practically pounced on him, the younger werewolf's hand going around his throat, his miniscule weight thrown into the alpha enough for Fenrir to take a step back and into the hallway wall.

Despite being held at the throat by Remus' hand, Fenrir still managed to chuckle. A feral grin widened his lips, his pointed teeth bearing.

"Feels good doesn't it?" Fenrir asked. "Letting go, letting your instincts rule you."

Remus didn't answer him, shaking from the exertion to control himself.

"Can you smell the fear wafting up the halls?" Fenrir asked again, goading him. "I suppose you don't know what fear smells like. You've repressed your nature for too long to be able to recognise the musky sweetness of a human's fear."

Fenrir closed his eyes and took a deep drag of air, smiling when the sweet aroma of fear filled his nostrils. "Its sublime. Sweet, and earthy, with just a hint of tang to it."

"Shut up," Remus breathed, his eyes closed.

Suddenly the younger man's eyes snapped open, their stormy grey depths blazing with hate. He spoke with a much firmer voice, more self assured, "I cannot smell fear, because I don't know what it smells like, yes. But unlike you, I am not an animal."

Fenrir chuckled again. "Yes you are." He ignored Remus' angry growl, and continued, "And you're better for it. I know you. I can feel your instincts thrashing within you. Your stomach's telling you to rip my throat out whilst your head is saying to walk away."

Fenrir could see a spark of pride flash in Remus' eyes at Fenrir's words. He repressed the urge to roll his own in exasperation. Of course the pup would take his words as a good thing. He was mixing self control with repression.

"I bet it hurts," Fenrir continued, determined to see the young wolf snap. "Keeping yourself cooped up like that. Gotta be painful."

"Shut up," Remus muttered, closing his eyes again.

"That little wife of yours probably thinks you're a saint too," Fenrir continued with a bark of manic laughter. "Probably thinks you'll be the perfect little family, white picket fence and all. It seems I know you better than she does. You'll run as soon as you feel the urge to mate with her."

Remus' upper lip lifted in a silent snarl. "Shut it."

Fenrir watched as something flashed in Remus' eyes. Guilt, was it? "Ah, so you have felt the need to mate with her."

He rumbled a deep chuckle and asked, "Where do you run to the eve of the full moon when your senses are at their peak? Surely even _you_ can smell when a bitch is in heat?"

The hand around Fenrir's neck tightened as Remus repressed a snarl, the low rumbles forced down into his belly. "I said, shut up!"

Fenrir grinned at him, shaking his head. Instead, he continued, "how much did it hurt you not to claim her? I bet you just about chewed your own leg off. Does she think you'll give her children too?"

"Don't you dare talk about my family that way!"

Fenrir watched as pain flashed in Remus' eyes. "So the rumours were true, she has had your cub. Well... not _yours_ , but she's given you _a_ pup anyways."

Fenrir grinned at him and continued, "was it an agreement between the two of you, or did she go out and fuck another man because you couldn't pup her yourself."

"SHUT UP!"

Fenrir barked a laugh when Remus roughly slammed him into the wall again. The hand around his throat tightened so that there was a mild amount of discomfort.

Fenrir locked eyes with the younger werewolf. "Do it. I dare you."

The hand squeezed a little harder around his throat, and Fenrir watched with a growing amount of pride as Remus transformed in front of him into a man who was governed by both his animal and his mind. The younger werewolf's hair was standing in all which directions, his hackles raised. His teeth were bared, still straight and square from the continued repression of his animal instincts. His eyes were blazing, his nostrils flared. Remus would have been a magnificent werewolf had he not gone through so many pains to stay human.

And then, almost violently, Remus wrenched himself away from Fenrir, snapping his hand back as if Fenrir was a leper. Remus backed away into the opposite side of the hallway, leaning heavily on the wall. As the distance increased, so did Fenrir's growing sensation of disappointment. Despite being goaded to the point that even Fenrir thought was cruel, Remus had still kept his instincts in a relative amount of control.

Quickly steeling himself, Fenrir pushed off the wall, dusting himself off nonchalantly, all the while watching the pup out of the corner of his eye.

Remus was rubbing his face with his hands in a distressed manner, his form shaking with the exertion to control himself.

And then, quite suddenly, Remus stiffened, his whole form going absolutely still.

Fenrir heard him tentatively sniff at his hand before his head snapped up, his eyes widening in horror when he saw the smirk forming on Fenrir's lips.

"Oh no," Remus murmured, dumbstruck, "no, not Hermione. No."

Fenrir grinned triumphantly. So the pup had smelt Hermione on the hand that he had been using to strangle Fenrir with. "Yes, little Hermione Granger."

Remus shook his head as if the movement would make the statement a lie. "That can't be true. The mating process cannot be completed unless both parties have consented."

Fenrir rumbled a low chuckle, dipping his hands into his hip pockets once more, looking very much the epitome of nonchalance. "And who says she doesn't consent?"

They were straying to a subject that Fenrir wasn't comfortable with. Yes, goading him was fun, but he didn't want Remus to be goaded through the runt. She was precious, and not to be used as a weapon, verbal or not.

And so with that, Fenrir walked back down the hall, intent on joining the battle, leaving a crumpled and severely distressed Remus in his wake.

-0-0-0-0-

Hermione awoke with her whole body throbbing painfully. Everything hurt, especially her head, which, unfortunately, felt like it was being repeatedly pounded by a heavy mallet. If that wasn't enough to turn her mood sour, there was also the fact that her insides were writhing, her whole body was drenched in sweat, and it felt like her whole stomach would turn itself inside out if she didn't heave soon.

Naturally, due to this, it didn't take long for her to leave her bed, only to vacate into the bathroom where she could be found bent over the toilet bowl, emptying her stomach of all its contents.

As relieving as that was, Hermione felt her mood darken. She hated throwing up. She hated it so much, in fact, that she had a strange fear of it. The feeling of queasiness made her nervous. The actual act of throwing up was even worse. It was like she was stuck in her own body, unable to move except for her whole stomach to upturn itself and her muscles to bunch and harden until she retched into the porcelain bowl. Luckily, after that came, the endorphin release sent her on a momentary pink cloud of hazed happiness.

And then, all too soon, reality would set back in again, and she would probably have to repeat the process all over again, which she did.

She leaned heavily over the bowl for a few minutes, emotionally and physically drained from the sudden onset of sickness. When the acidic stench of her own sick became too much for her, Hermione shakily stood, and walked over to the basin where she brushed her teeth numerous times and splashed her face with cool water.

And then, to top off her morning, as she turned to leave the bathroom, her memory returned.

The first thought that entered her mind after remembering everything was, _'I'm going to rip his balls off.'_

The second was, _'and I'm going to feed them to a cat.'_

After that, everything seemed to melt into a furious haze. Hermione was aware of storming around the room, her hands clenched into tight fists, her chest heaving with her ragged breaths. She couldn't honestly remember what was going through her mind at that moment, only that the thoughts ran along the lines of ways to hex him into another dimension.

She was also quite aware of the rather colourful obscenities that flew out of her mouth in her rage. She knew that she swore like a sailor when she was angry. At that moment she couldn't care less anyways, hence why she swore. When she was angry it seemed as if all self control would be forgotten, filed away in the back of her mind til she calmed again. Until then, the rage swirling within her allowed her to be a rather vengeful, slightly sadistic woman.

Soon enough she calmed down for a coherent thought to pop into her head. Luckily, that one thought ran along the tangent of the need to fight in the battle.

As soon as she realised that she had been sitting around at home sulking while there was a large possibility that the battle was still going on, Hermione stopped pacing, her jaw slackening in horror.

She immediately went into action changing out of her pyjamas (she didn't even want to know how she had gotten into them), and finding her wand.

The latter proved more problematic to find than she had thought.

She searched in the bathroom, in the drawers of everything that had a storage space, under the bed...

And then a thought hit her.

Of course Fenrir wouldn't leave her wand lying about when there was a battle going on. He must have thought she might wake up early, and return to the fight. By removing her wand he had removed her weapon. He knew her well enough to know that, despite her Gryffindor nature, she wouldn't rush into battle blindly, especially without a wand.

She had wandless magic, but that only really happened if she was experiencing high amounts of an emotion. Anger often resulted in things starting to vibrate or shatter. Doors would fly open; things would randomly start to hurtle towards the source of her anger. Sadness resulted in things around her to droop. Plants would wilt, food would go off. Sometimes when she was exceptionally sad (the death of a family member for example) she would find small animals dead in her back yard. It was only later in life that she realised that she must have somehow sapped the life out of them.

Hermione growled, clenching her fists at her sides, only just managing to resist stomping around like a petulant child.

She would need a flow chart to be able to clearly convey all the ways Fenrir had insulted her person by his actions.

He had no right to keep her from the battle! Didn't he understand that Harry and Ron needed her? That they needed her to protect them? They were just boys!

Well, she couldn't just stay here, could she?

Hermione took a deep, calming breath, – which, to be honest, didn't really work – and made her way out of the bedroom, intent on flooing back to Hogwarts and helping any way she could, wand or not.

She didn't step three paces out of her bedroom when she lurched to a halt.

Fenrir was sitting on the lush armchair, coated in blood _again_. That fact didn't surprise her as much as the blood coating the floor and walls. She could see red streaks along the wall, the blood smeared where his hands clawed along it. On the floor there were red boot prints, small puddles and hand prints where he must have rested when he collapsed. Around the footprints there were steady droplets of crimson, like splattered red ink.

Judging by the way the blood had crusted on the... Hermione balked. The _broken_ door.

The door had been wrenched clean off its hinges. The mahogany was resting against the wall, the doorway clear, revealing the lush forest just beyond, the ground layered in pure white snow, except for the concaved trail where Fenrir had walked, the snow surrounding it sunken slightly, and a boorish red colour from his blood.

Judging by the way the blood had crusted on the _broken_ door he had literally been dragging himself into the house for a long time. Probably hours.

Hermione felt her anger dissipate and turn into worry.

Despite the lack of anger, Hermione still wasn't impressed, and stayed where she was in front of the bedroom door instead of moving to fuss over him.

He didn't even look up when Hermione asked, "Is the blood yours?"

Fenrir nodded, swallowing thickly, his whole form shaking, and slumped over the chair.

She sighed, not sure what to do. Her whole being was calling to go over to him and help him. But a small part in her mind hissed, _'he knocked you out and removed your chance at helping in the battle. Bastard. Liar. Cheat. Kick him in the balls.'_

Eventually Hermione decided what to do, and murmured, "I'll go get a muscle relaxant to help with the tremors, and some more Essence of Murtlap to help with your cuts."

Hermione walked deliberately slow as she retrieved the potion. Just because she was worried about him didn't necessarily mean that she thought he couldn't suffer any longer than he had to. She couldn't help but listen to the little gremlin inside of her that squawked for him to suffer for just a little longer. He deserved it, the bastard.

As she made her way up the stairs, a rather elating fact hit her. He hadn't gone all primitive-wild-animal on her today. The last time he was this beat up, he had watched over her like a hawk all day until she finally went to bed. Hermione bit her lips to stop from smiling. His actions proved that he trusted her not to kill him when he was at his most vulnerable.

To other people, that might have sounded ridiculously stupid. They might have questioned why she was with a man that had issues with trusting her not to murder him when he was weak. To be honest, she had no idea how she ended up with Fenrir. All she did know was that she was grateful for the day that Harry and Ron went to look in Knockturn alley for shrunken heads.

This proved how far along they had progressed in their morbid, slightly unhealthy relationship. It had gone beyond just sex, or schoolgirl crushes. This small reaction proved that he certainly felt more towards her than animal attraction.

Oh dear, now Hermione was starting to feel giddy.

Hermione returned to find Fenrir in the same position she had left him in. He was slumped over the green armchair, which would have turned brown with the amount of blood that escaped some of his slower healing wounds had it not been charmed to repel things such as stain-causing liquids.

She knelt down in front of him, handing him the muscle relaxant potion to which he gulped down with a small sniff to the concoction. Mere seconds after he ingested the pearlescent pink potion, a sigh of relief escaped his lips, and, if it were possible, he slumped even further in the chair, his muscles relaxing.

Slowly, he stood up and stretched his cramped muscles. No doubt they felt rather tight after being repeatedly tortured for god only knows how long.

When he opened his eyes, Hermione stood and asked quietly, "better?"

He nodded, his expression tender as he looked upon her. He reached out and stroked her new mark with the pads of his fingers. Hermione ignored the pleasant unearthly feeling that washed over her at his touch, and instead reached to grasp his hand and coax him to drop it to his side again. She couldn't do what she wanted to him if his arm was stretched out like that.

"Good," Hermione answered, deceptively calm, "then I can do this."

"Do wh-"

His question was promptly cut off when Hermione's fist snapped forward, and she punched him full in the face. It did little more than physically give Hermione a set of bruised knuckles, but she couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at his flabbergasted expression as his head reared back in shock.

His shock, however, was quickly overridden with pure, animalistic rage.

It was only perhaps later that Hermione determined that punching him at that moment perhaps wasn't the best idea. Yes, he had shown her a degree of trust by not dominating her before she did anything as he was injured. Naturally, he would still have those emotions within him this time, but the level of restraint he had shown had lulled Hermione into a false sense of security.

And so she did something stupid.

She attacked a wounded animal.

With a feral snarl, Fenrir's clawed hand shot out and grasped the front of her shirt. He yanked her forward so that their faces were inches apart, and bared his pointed teeth at her, the rumbles deep within his chest being ripped from his being in animalistic rasps.

Hermione felt her anger flare again. How dare he get angry with her when he had no right to be angry! He deserved much more than that flimsy punch! For goodness sake, there wasn't even a red mark on his skin where she had hit him.

She struggled against him when he raised his hand to rip back the collar of her shirt and expose her neck. He snarled at her again, and grasped a handful of her hair, yanking it – along with her head – to the side roughly. He didn't even hear her pained gasp as he ripped the torn shirt off her left shoulder, and leaned forward. Like a series of small knives, Fenrir's teeth sank into her old mark, dominating her, holding her underneath him til she stopped struggling.

He didn't drink from her like all the other times. In fact, lots of things about this particular incident were much different to the past times he had bitten and dominated her. This time he gnashed his teeth from side to side, shaking her around roughly so that his sharp canines gashed through her flesh.

A muffled sob of pain escaped Hermione, her eyes wide in shock, her mouth dropped open in a silent scream.

The thing different about this time, was that he wasn't just dominating her. He was punishing her as well.

The last times, he had dominated her due to her challenging him.

This time, she openly defied him, and physically attacked him.

This time, he not only needed to show her who was boss, but put her back in her place as well. She had gone too far this time, and she was paying for it dearly.

And then, almost as suddenly as he had forced her to submit to him, he pushed himself away from her as if she were a leper, his teeth retracting from her flesh with a wet sloshing sound.

They stared at each other, both apparently shocked at what he had done. Hermione, feeling a little dizzy, sank back to sit on the coffee table, leaning forward with a wince to rest her elbows on her knees, and dropped her head heavily, her hair swinging in a wild curtain about her face.

Horrified by his actions, Fenrir didn't know what else to do but leave. Abruptly he turned, and started walking from the room.

"How could you do that?"

Fenrir grimaced. Her voice sounded so small, a far cry from the strong little woman he had come to know.

He didn't know what to say. What was there to say? _Sorry, girlie, I suppose you just crossed the line and I snapped. It's your own fault I treated you like a common bitch._

Yes, that was the perfect apology.

Instead of answering, or even acknowledging her, Fenrir simply started walking again.

He didn't take two steps before he stopped once more when Hermione continued.

"How could you just... leave me here?"

Hermione watched as Fenrir's head turned slightly, a sign that he was at least listening to her.

"What would I have done if you had died?" Hermione asked, her voice cracking, "How could I have lived with myself knowing that you had died when I wasn't there to protect you?"

Fenrir finally turned to look at her although the majority of his body was still facing away from her. He was still hiding.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, baffled.

Hermione glared at him. As if he didn't bloody well know! "The battle! What else would I be talking about?"

Fenrir finally turned to her fully. "That's what you're upset about? Me keeping you away from the battle? Not that I just treated you like a common bitch?"

"Yes, I'm angry that you kept me away from the battle!" Hermione hissed, before adding more calmly, "what on earth is a common bitch?"

Fenrir sighed, running his hands through his unkempt hair roughly, a motion he went through when stressed, Hermione observed. He had done the same thing when he found her in the hospital wing at Hogwarts the day before.

"A bitch," Fenrir explained, "is an unmated female who..." he exhaled heavily before continuing, "who has sex with men. For... money."

Hermione frowned in bafflement for a few seconds before the answer hit her. "Oh! Like a..." she lowered her voice to a whisper, feeling a little dirty for saying the word that was about to come out of her mouth, "like a whore?"

Fenrir nodded solemnly, his expression clearly indicating that he was not enjoying the current topic at hand.

The pair fell into a rather awkward silence after that. It was strange, having gone from being gnawed on one minute, to discussing the changes in vocabulary between the werewolf and human races at another.

"I'm sorry for punching you," Hermione mumbled, looking down at her fidgeting fingers.

Instead of answering her apology, Fenrir asked, "Why aren't you more upset?"

Hermione's head snapped up. "Of course I'm upset! You knocked me out, and forced me to –"

"No, no, no!" Fenrir dismissed with a flourish of his clawed hand, "why aren't you more upset that I treated you in such a way just now?"

Hermione looked down at her fingers again, her eyebrows bunched and drawn up.

"I understand why you did it," she answered quietly, looking at him from underneath her long lashes, "I'm not saying that I necessarily deserved such a _violent_ reaction, but I understand your reasoning behind it. I can't begrudge you for punishing me when I did something wrong."

Fenrir frowned at her. He honestly couldn't understand why she wasn't screaming at him for biting her in such a way. He had never done that to one of his pack members before. But, then again, none of the current pack members had ever had the audacity to punch him square in the nose before. Those that physically attacked him with malicious intent generally died sooner than he would be able to sink his teeth into them.

Their necks would be snapped before he would even think of punishing them like that.

He supposed Hermione was a sort of in between. She wasn't a pack member who was too scared to stand up to him, but she was too precious to just have her neck snapped when she did something out of line. And so he had done what his instincts had told him to.

He couldn't have killed her if he wanted to now, but he couldn't just let her get away with attacking him. Biting her like that, no matter how vicious – and that was saying something, considering who he was – was a much needed lesson. Who knows how defiant she would become if he didn't pull her up sooner or later.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Hermione spoke again quietly.

"Just, please don't gnaw on me like that again," she mumbled, giggling weakly before she continued. "I feel like minced meat."

Fenrir watched as she swayed slowly from side to side for a reason he could not fathom. Her eyes fluttered from between half-closed and closed.

It was at that moment that Fenrir looked down to her body and noticed her whole left side was lathered in deep red crimson.

Her blood.

No wonder she wasn't mouthing off to him. She was suffering from blood loss. She was probably having trouble staying awake, let alone finding enough energy to give him an ear-lashing.

Fenrir rushed over to her, picking her up so that she was cradled in his arms, and taking her to their room. He laid her down on the bed gently, wondering how, for the first time in his life, the sight of fresh blood was not welcoming.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance   
Chapter 22

'Lick Me Clean'  
.

Hermione couldn't stress enough over how startling it was to wake up and be greeted with the site of a large werewolf hovering over her. Had she not recognised his form, she might have jumped right out of her skin and punched him again in fright. Luckily she didn't. She wasn't sure how he would take being punched another time.

She sure as hell wasn't going to find out either.

It wasn't as if she was scared of him now. Some women might have been terrified of him if he had reacted in such a way to them. But Hermione wasn't just any other women, and for some odd reason, all she felt towards the incident was shame. Maybe she was a little bit more wary around him now, a little more attentive to when he was in a bad mood so that she wouldn't goad him. But, to be honest, there was a little part in her that told her that what he did was rather rational. In an animalistic kind of way.

Human ethics told her that his actions leant more towards the 'domestic abuse' category, but a rapidly growing part in her told her that the alpha in him had just been doing his job. It was her own fault for stepping out of line.

Then again, she supposed her reaction to the incident would have been different if Fenrir hadn't acted remorseful for what he did. Perhaps if he had acted indifferent to what he had just done, she might have been a little angrier at him.

But he honestly looked regretful for what he had done. He hadn't even had the guts to face her fully until she told him she wasn't angry that he had behaved in such a way towards her. Hermione supposed it wasn't because he had put her in her place. It was his duty to keep things in order with those he ruled over, but she also recognised quite a while ago that he was worried that he would break her. Every time he touched her, every time he defended her, it was all with an uncharacteristic gentleness, and fierce protectiveness. She supposed that was the predominant reason as to why he had beaten himself up over his actions. It wasn't because he had told her off. It was because he didn't know how much she could take before he snapped her in half.

It was kind of sweet, how careful he was around her, like she was a delicate China doll.

She was snapped out of her thoughts when she felt something warm and wet run along her left arm. She jerked into a half sitting position in surprise, wondering what Fenrir was doing. Fenrir's head snapped up, and he growled at her in warning not to move to get up any further. Hermione carefully lay back on the lush mattress once more, watching him intently, still curious as to what he was doing.

Fenrir didn't return to what he had been doing. Instead, he watched her intently, his eyes flickering from side to side as they gazed at her own, searching for she didn't know what. He looked a little lost as of what to do, as if asking permission to be near her.

Realisation hit Hermione like a ton of bricks. He looked apprehensive, as if waiting to see if she would reject him or not.

Hermione smiled at him softly, reaching out with her right hand to cover his own larger one, running her fingertips along his weathered skin soothingly.

If she hadn't run from him before, she certainly wasn't going to do it now.

She watched as Fenrir closed his eyes, his posture visibly relaxing, a small, relieved smile tugged at his lips. When his eyes opened, they looked infinitesimally happier, his eyes a brighter shade of grey. Almost silvery.

He crawled up the bed with a warm rumble, and leaned down to nuzzle her temple affectionately. Hermione's smile widened, and her hand moved up to cup the back of his head, encouraging him to continue in his ministrations.

He continued to nuzzle against her skin, moving his head down til his lips met hers in a sweet, lazy kiss. Hermione sighed against him contentedly, the hand behind his head instead moving to cup his whiskery cheek.

When he pulled back, Fenrir smiled at her. It was different from all the other times though. This time it was just a warm, 'I-feel-affection-towards-you' smile. It wasn't like his other smiles where it would be scheming, or lecherous. This time there were no strings attached. He was simply happy to see her.

It was only then that he returned to his previous position crouched over her. Fenrir leaned down towards her left arm and...

There it was again. That warm wetness, running, this time, along the fold in her elbow. Hermione lifted her head and was met with the sight of Fenrir licking away dried blood on her skin.

"What're you doing, Fenrir?" Hermione asked in bemusement.

Fenrir had always shown a preference for fresh blood. Not once in her time in the cabin had Hermione seen him willingly ingest old, crusted fluid off anything. She remembered him coming home many times covered in blood. He only ever licked himself clean of the substance that was still wet on his skin. Any of the old blood he would wash off with water. His distaste for the aged substance even went so far as for him to look upon the crusted crimson fluid in distaste as he scrubbed it from his skin. She supposed it had something to do with the blood dying. It was like with any other food. It all tasted better when it was fresh. Blood must be the same.

Fenrir looked up at her and answered simply. "Cleaning you. Couldn't scrub some blood off with just the cloth."

The only response Hermione could come up after that statement was an ineloquent, "oh."

Hermione lay there tensely as Fenrir continued to lap at her skin. Once he was contented with the job he had done on her elbow, he moved down to her hand, and started licking between her fingers, his tongue wrapping between and around each digit in long, languorous strokes. Hermione couldn't help but stare at him as he did so.

She couldn't honestly understand why he was doing this. Surely he saw that once she was up, she could just take a proper shower? Why on earth was he cleaning her like this?

She was snapped out of her thoughts when she heard a deep, rumbling chuckle.

"You look rather confused," he chortled before he took a long sweep of his tongue along her palm.

"I am," Hermione answered, unable to resist flexing her fingers when the contact of his tongue on her palm tickled her skin.

"How so?"

Hermione stayed silent for a few seconds, wondering how to word her question.

Eventually she answered, "I can't understand why you're doing this. Why are you... licking me to clean me? I know you don't like the taste of old blood. I just don't understand."

"I should imagine that's very frustrating for you," Fenrir answered dryly, a cheeky smirk tweaking his lips as he licked around her pinky finger.

"Careful there, Mister Wolf. I'm in optimum position to poke you in the eye for any wayward comments you might have," Hermione murmured with a pointed wiggle of her fingers.

In response, Fenrir nipped at her wrist mischievously. He responded with a warm smile. "You poke me in the eye, then I might just end up gobbling that cute little pinky finger of yours, girlie."

To prove his point, he took the small digit in his mouth and nipped on the tip.

Hermione couldn't resist giggling like a schoolgirl. It was nice to have some banter between them again.

It felt like such a long time ago since they had just sat together and talked.

They sat in contented silence after that. Fenrir, having cleaned her hand of any extra blood, moved around her, and lay on his side, propped up on one elbow. He nudged her to move onto her side, and Hermione complied with little fuss.

She felt him move her hair from her shoulder.

She smiled when he rumbled softly, "I _adore_ your hair."

"Thank you," she answered softly, blushing.

No one had ever said they adored her hair before. She wasn't sure she could be more flattered in her life. Sure, she had gotten compliments from boys, saying that she looked pretty or beautiful. But for a man to take her most – supposedly – unflattering feature and simply love it, not because it would make her feel good, but simply because he well and truly did like it... it was almost indescribable. It felt like a warm balloon had engulfed her chest.

All over a single compliment.

She was brought out of her thoughts when Fenrir moved. Hermione attempted to look at what he was doing, but his head snapped up and he growled at her warningly again.

"Stay put," he rumbled gruffly, frowning.

Hermione sighed, and lay back down, facing away from him. She felt Fenrir scoot closer to her, spooning his larger form around her, the hand not holding his weight up draping over her waist in a lazy, yet possessive manner. She could just see him out of the corner of her eye.

He dropped from sight, however, when he bent over her once more.

Hermione flinched at the first contact of his soft tongue on the tender skin of her neck. A sharp sting jolted through her shoulder, and she hissed sharply. Fenrir pulled back, and looked down at her with a frown.

"Sorry," she mumbled, shuffling and arching her neck so that he had better access to her wound.

His frown softened when he saw the sheepish look on her face. "You can't help feeling pain, runt. I'm not going to punish you for it."

Hermione's eyes flashed to meet his. A blush rose on her cheeks at the almost tender expression on his face as Fenrir looked upon her.

"I've got to clean this though," Fenrir continued. "My venom will help clean and seal it. It'll heal faster that way."

"Can't a potion do the same thing?" Hermione asked.

Fenrir raised an eyebrow at her, as if pointing out the obvious when he murmured. "I'm a werewolf. Lots of potions don't work on werewolf wounds."

"Ah," Hermione acquiesced, relaxing against the mattress best she could. "Right."

Fenrir bent down, and Hermione prepared for him to lick her wound again, but was met with the sensation of him nuzzling her temple instead. The movement was comforting, and Hermione felt herself returning the gesture in thanks.

"You ready?' Fenrir asked as he pulled away once more.

Hermione simply nodded.

Again, the first touch of his tongue on her wound stung, and Hermione, despite being prepared for the pain this time, still flinched. He didn't pull back though, and instead allowed a low rumble to escape from deep within his chest. The vibrations soothed Hermione, and the sound, although rather primal, had a melodic lilt to it that almost sunk her into a stupor.

As he lapped at her wound, Hermione felt an odd sensation overtake the sting in her shoulder. It felt almost like bubbling. It didn't burn, but it had a similar sensation to bubbling sherbet in one's mouth.

Hermione couldn't resist squirming a little. Just because it didn't hurt as much, didn't mean that it was comfortable.

Fenrir continued to lick at her skin. Slowly, he moved from the wound at the base of her neck, to her shoulder and clavicle, running his tongue along the bone in a single long lick, before dipping his tongue into the shallow indent above it. There he stayed, washing away any dried blood that had been left there.

As he continued to clean her, Hermione felt her curiosity returning.

Fenrir still hadn't answered her question as to why he was cleaning her.

"I can _hear_ you thinking,"

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts once again, and answered, "Sorry."

Fenrir chuckled, and leant back up so that he could look down at her with a pointy-toothed smile.

"What're you thinking about now?" he asked.

"The same thing as before," Hermione answered with a shrug, "you never did answer me when I asked you about licking me clean."

"Ah," Fenrir hummed in acknowledgement.

He thought for a few seconds, his eyebrows bunched together, his eyes taking on a glazed, far-away look.

Eventually he looked back down at her, and answered, "I suppose you humans would call it grooming. It's a... form of bonding, if you will. I not only feel the need to clean you of my own actions, but also to do it myself, without anything aiding me. I cannot really explain it that well. It's an urge, almost a gut instinct. To clean my woman myself. To not need anything helping me. It's a reassurance that I can take care of you. That I am strong enough to do so. Do you understand?"

Hermione slowly nodded. Whilst she did not feel the same urge, or necessarily understand the feeling he was describing, she could understand the way that _grooming_ bonded the two of them. And she couldn't begrudge him for his animal instincts.

To be honest, his instincts were one of the many things she found attractive about him. His primal responses, his possessiveness, his almost ancient morals, his need to dominate her, and now his form of bonding with her, it was all incredibly attractive to Hermione.

He returned to grooming her, his tongue making its way up the arch of her neck. It wasn't arousing like the other times. This time there was a base instinct in Hermione that was triggered from his actions. She relaxed into his arms until she was almost a rag doll, a dopey smile stretching her lips. His actions had triggered the same response in her as if he were giving her a full body massage. His actions made her lethargic, floating off into a light doze.

If she were a cat, she would be purring like there was no tomorrow.

After many minutes spent grooming Hermione, Fenrir eventually stopped with a heavy sigh, and dropped his head to rest on Hermione's right clavicle. As soon as he stopped his ministrations, Hermione snapped out of her grooming-induced haze, and opened her eyes.

She couldn't help but yawn sleepily, and upon relaxing once again, sifted her fingers through his hair. His head didn't rise, and Hermione eventually frowned in worry.

"Didn't you get any sleep at all while I was unconscious?" Hermione asked, looking down at him, but she could only see the wenge-brown hair covering the top of his head.

Not raising his head from resting his forehead upon her skin, Fenrir shook it from side to side.

"How on earth would I have been able to protect you if I had gone to sleep?" he asked incredulously, his voice muffled by her skin.

Hermione couldn't stop the soft, utterly adoring smile from creeping onto her face. How on earth could he be a monster when he had stayed up all morning to protect her from seemingly nothing right after a night long battle? And all of it at his expense. He really was a sweetheart, despite his gruff exterior.

They stayed in silence for a little while, simply lying in each other's embrace, 'cuddling' for lack of a better word.

It was a rather surreal moment to Hermione. She was lying in bed, cuddling with Fenrir Greyback. If she didn't know any better, she might have thought the world was coming to an end.

But with the silence, came many thoughts. Hermione's mind travelled at a million miles an hour. Unfortunately, the one thought that made her stop dead in her tracks, was his knocking her out before the battle.

He had taken away her choice to fight, and that is where she felt betrayed. She hated people choosing her life for her.

Her parents had done that her whole life. The only time they had really listened to her request was when she had the offer to join Hogwarts, and even then, she knew it was only with the possible danger that came with uncontrolled magic that they had let her go.

"Please, never do that again," Hermione murmured softly, though it sounded like more of a pleading request.

His head rose to look straight at her.

"I promise, I will never treat you in such a disrespectful manner again," he answered almost instantly and with such a contrite voice that Hermione turned to look him straight in the eye with a large amount of surprise.

She had expected him to put up a fight. To defend himself and his actions.

Instead he just sat there and gave into her wishes.

"You won't?" Hermione asked, slightly incredulous.

Fenrir nodded his head solemnly and answered, "You are not a bitch, and so I will not treat you as such."

Something clicked in Hermione's brain when he said the word 'bitch'. The last time he had used that term it was in relevance to his punishing her for punching him. Did he think she was talking about that incident?

She frowned at him, and asked, "Are you talking about this morning when you bit me?"

Fenrir frowned at her in return, and raised himself up on his elbows so that not so much of his weight was resting on her smaller form. "Aren't you talking about this morning?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I was talking about you knocking me out before the battle."

Fenrir's face darkened, and he opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione cut him off and murmured, "Please, I understand that you were trying to protect me, but at the same time you took away my choice. I can't handle being bossed around when I am quite capable of making decisions for myself. I have much more sense than people decades older than me. You took away my chance to fight for what I believe in. Imagine if I had done the same to you. Imagine waking up the next morning not knowing who lived and who died. I didn't know if you would come back or not. You never gave me the chance to protect the people I love..." she paused for a second before adding softly, "to protect you."

She took another deep breath and turned her head to the side, staring at the bedside table as if it were fascinating. She didn't have the courage to look him in the eye when she murmured softly, "before you knocked me out...you said that...your happiness depended on me..."

She heard his sharp intake of breath, and felt the low vibrations against her torso as a growl welled up in his belly. She couldn't hear it yet, but she knew it was there. It was warning her to drop the subject, and quickly.

She ignored the signs and continued, still staring at the bedside table. "My happiness depends on you as well, you know. How could you expect me to accept the fact that while I am here safe, you are out there risking your life? Just because you hid my wand away from me, doesn't mean that I won't go out of my way to find you and help you any way I can. I'd tear down the cabin and the villages surrounding it to find my wand so I could come and watch your back."

The low rumbles stopped, and Hermione felt more than a little foolish for her admission, a slight pink tinge heating her cheeks as she talked. "How can you keep me safe, and not let me do the same thing to you? I want you safe. Not just me."

Fenrir didn't answer her, and instead moved a hand to pinch her chin and coax her to look at him once again. Hermione allowed her head to be turned, but she stared resolutely at a spot on the wall just past his head.

"Look at me," she heard him command softly, his thumb rubbing along her jaw line gently.

Her eyes flickered to his, but quickly reverted back to the wall again. For some odd reason, she just couldn't meet his eye, no matter how hard she tried.

She heard Fenrir sigh again, and her vision was suddenly covered with something skin coloured as Fenrir leaned in to kiss her softly. He pulled back before Hermione could really react, and instead moved his head down to nuzzle the uninjured side of her neck affectionately.

He then rumbled softly against her skin in a contented growl. "I am glad you feel that way."

He paused for a few seconds, having noticed that a place on her neck needed to be groomed, and lapped at the area languidly before he continued. "But I can't do that. You cannot ask me not to protect you."

Hermione felt a small amount of anger well up in her chest. "You were not only protecting me, but also taking away my choice to fight in what I believe in!"

Fenrir's head snapped up at her retort, his brows furrowed into a disapproving frown, "You were not fit to fight in any case. You probably would have been killed before you would be able to do anything useful."

Hermione took a big, calming breath, exhaling heavily before she answered, "okay, let's stop before we start fighting again."

"Good," Fenrir answered, "you're clearly still thinking irrationally."

" _I'M IRRATIONAL?"_ Hermione practically shrieked, her temper flaring.

Fenrir chose not to answer her and just shrugged noncommittally before returning to his task of grooming her. Hermione once again took a large breath, closing her eyes to try and calm down again. Clearly they would disagree on this point in the future. Best not bring it up at all.

"Let's just drop the subject, shall we?' Hermione suggested, far too emotionally and physically drained to start fighting with him again.

"Best idea you've had all day, runt," Fenrir rumbled against her skin before he continued lapping along her shoulder.

It wasn't long before Hermione started to get drowsy due to his ministrations.

It was with his parting, "go back to sleep. I will wake you when the others arrive," that Hermione finally dropped off into slumber for the second time that day.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance   
Chapter 23

'Tom M. Riddle'  
.

Hermione woke up once again to Fenrir hovering over her.

This time, it didn't come as much of a shock, and instead of gasping in fright like last time, she giggled indolently and smiled when he rumbled a happy growl at her. Fenrir smiled back and dipped his head to nuzzle her temple affectionately.

"Time to get up," he rumbled warmly, pulling back enough to look her in the eyes once more.

"Are the others here?" Hermione questioned curiously, raising a hand to idly caress Fenrir's broad chest.

He nodded with a small smirk and dipped his head to touch his mouth to hers.

What he didn't expect, though, was Hermione's reaction.

As soon as his lips came in contact with hers, it was as if a torrent of electrical energy surged through them. She arched into him, her curves fitting against his hardened muscles like honey on steel. He felt her nimble little fingers delve into his dirty mane of hair, clutching the strands hard, pulling him closer.

A low rumble formed from deep within his chest as his lips moved against hers, hard and desperate. It felt like they had been separated for millennia, even though the last time they had been in an intimate situation was merely the morning before. His starting the mating process with her had caused him to ache for her constantly. Had the Dark Lord not called him, he was sure he would have taken her many times over during the past two days, and now, after being away from her for hours on end, hundreds of kilometres separating them, there was a definite warm glow that encompassed him as he possessed her mouth. It felt as if their souls were reaching out, twining together, dancing around each other in a myriad of golden hues.

His tongue darted out to meet hers, seeking her own supple muscle, wrestling with it, dancing with it, taking what was his.

Hermione clutched at him, pulling him ever closer to her, wanting to sink into his warmth, to meld her body to his.

His mouth descended to her neck, kissing along the side where her new mark had been made. His breathing was ragged, drawn heavily through his nose as he kissed and nipped along her creamy, pliant flesh. When his lips finally came in contact with Hermione's new mark, a heavy jolt of pleasure surged through her body. A ragged gasp was torn from Hermione's lips, her back arching, her hands clutching his sides hard enough that her little nails raised momentary red welts on his skin. He kissed the mark again, another jolt surging through her, gravitating towards her rapidly readying centre. This time, Hermione cried out, her dripping core clenching and fluttering, primed with need.

"Fenrir... I'm going to," Hermione babbled breathlessly, feeling the indescribable build of an orgasm climbing from deep within her, despite him not even touching her anywhere near her womanhood.

"Don't come yet," Fenrir breathed, pulling away from her new mark to instead rip her pyjama top open, once again sending the buttons flying. "Not yet. Not yet."

Hermione idly wondered if she should even wear pyjamas anymore, let alone _anything_ with buttons. It seems they were doomed when Fenrir came into the equation.

Fenrir's head dipped, and took a rosy nipple between his lips, fluttering his tongue over it, sucking it deep into his hot cavern.

Hermione raised her head, eyes glassy, mouth open, and looked upon the werewolf lavishing her breasts with attention. Despite being overwhelmed with these sensations, Hermione couldn't help but wonder how on earth he almost brought her to an orgasm with just the barest of touches to her neck.

"How... how did you...?" Hermione asked breathlessly before a gasp was torn from her lips as Fenrir idly brushed his finger along the undamaged side of her neck. Along her new mark. The jolt of pleasure came again, and Hermione couldn't help but arch into him. Rolling her hips against his form wantonly, begging for release.

Fenrir raised his head for a second to ask, "how did I what?" before he dipped it again to continue licking, and sucking on her rosy nipples, plucking the one that wasn't in his mouth til it was a hardened peak.

"How did you... orgasm..." Hermione babbled incoherently, "not possible..."

Fenrir chuckled against her, and raised his head to brush his lips against her mark. Another jolt. Hermione felt her feminine juices soaking through her knickers, and her inner muscles start to flutter. He pulled back before she could reach release, and Hermione groaned brokenly.

"This, you mean?" Fenrir asked, tracing the delicate arch of the scar. Hermione arched into him again, gasping raggedly, her knuckles cracking as she bunched them into fists, clutching the bed sheets.

"How...how..." Hermione gasped, her eyes wide.

"I think you'll find," Fenrir murmured with a small, smug tweak of his lips, "that this mark will become even more sensitive than that pretty little clit of yours, Hermione."

"W-why?" she managed to squeak, her whole form twitching as he gently rubbed along her mark.

He stopped again just as Hermione was teetering on the edge of her release. She sobbed brokenly, gyrating her hips against his, silently begging for release.

"All in good time," was his vague answer.

Hermione was about to question him further but at that point in time, he leaned down, pressed his mouth against her new mark, and sucked. Hard.

Hermione felt a series of jolts surge through her body, one after the other, again and again. Through her haze, she felt him shift, and jerked against him violently when she felt his hand against her cotton clad core. His knuckle placed itself expertly against her primed clit.

Hermione's world exploded.

Her pleasure rose from her with a ragged cry, her body twitching and spasming against his hard form.

Hermione slowly settled, her muscles slackening, falling limp against the mattress. She panted heavily, her chest heaving, her eyes glassy and half-lidded. She idly licked her dry lips, trying to understand how on earth he had made her come so heavily by sucking on her neck, and with a simple touch to her womanhood. As far as she knew, the neck wasn't a place where such a high amount of pleasure could be drawn out. Surely there was something he wasn't telling her.

It all came down to this new mark. Her sickness when he left her, her sudden neediness for him, and the strange amounts of pleasure she gained when he touched it.

What on earth was this mark? Some sort of bonding thing that werewolves did to make sex that much better? Probably. Fenrir seemed the type to want his witch panting and dripping under his ministrations. He would do any strange thing to make sex better.

"Fenrir," Hermione murmured, receiving a hum from him in response. "How did –"

"We'll talk about it later," he cut her off, "right now, we need to finish the meeting."

Hermione sat up abruptly. "Oh, bollocks, the others!"

Fenrir drew away from her and sat on the end of the bed with a knowing smirk.

Hermione eyed him tentatively, dread settling over her. "Did you..." she swallowed, "you did put a silencing charm on the room before we did all that, didn't you?"

Fenrir simply continued to smile at her and instead of answering, stood up. He went over to the chest of drawers across from the bed, and rifled around for some clothes. When he found her a pair of pants and a jumper, he threw them to her.

Hermione caught them, panicking slightly. "Fenrir, you did put a silencing spell on the room, right?"

She heard his quiet chuckle before he answered, "Get dressed. Meeting starts in a few minutes."

"No, Fenrir, seriously!" Hermione squeaked in panic. "No, imagine what Rodolphus would be like if he heard that! Fenrir, please tell me-"

She was abruptly cut off as the door to the bedroom closed behind him.

She fell back on the bed with an exasperated groan. How on earth could she face the others now? Ugh. She could just imagine Rodolphus' lecherous grin gracing the room if he had heard the pair.

Ew.

-0-0-0-0-

Hermione entered the small living room tentatively; shoulders hunched, and eyes searching. Dear lord, what if Fenrir hadn't put a silencing spell up? Oh, she could just imagine all their faces now! Snape would be revolted. He probably would have gone an unappealing shade of green. Malfoy would look indifferent. He was, after all, a well bred pureblood man. He would be too above showing outward emotion. Rabastan would probably have a knowing smirk on his face. Rodolphus... she didn't even want to think about the reaction he would have. It was enough to make her shudder in absolute horror.

She looked around with searching eyes and found the men all staring around the room solemnly, not making eye contact with each other. Even Fenrir, who usually was impervious with virtually everything, was looking at his clawed hands which were clasped together in front of him, his elbows resting on his bent knees. He had a contemplative frown on his face.

Snape didn't look green, but had instead gone deathly pale. Two long gashes stretched the length of his face, from his left temple to the centre of his chin. One of them had cut through his lips, and he was lucky that the cuts had missed his eye. They had passed it by millimetres. She was sure they would scar, and not pleasantly either. His shoulders shook slightly, an indication that the Cruciatus curse had been used on him at some point during the night. If that wasn't proof that he had had a rough night, then the fact that he had shed his voluminous robes in front of them certainly did. His once white dress shirt was now splattered with patches of dark red, and his black waistcoat was unbuttoned, his tie removed completely.

Lucius was pale as well. His face was blank, though his jaw was taught with the strain of clenching his teeth so hard, and he kept on swallowing thickly, as if to swallow something un-swallowable. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy, a far off look in his grey-blue depths. He stood tall, his back rigid, chest rising and falling with unnaturally controlled breaths. The hand wrapped around his cane was bandaged tightly around the wrist and palm, only his fingers and knuckles showing flesh. The skin that was visible though, was white with strain as he gripped the head of his walking stick hard.

Rabastan was missing, and Rodolphus was lounging on the couch, drumming the fingers of his right hand along the hand rest. His left hand was currently holding an expensive, smoking cigar, and it seemed it was missing the ring and pinkie finger. The hand was heavily bandaged, a large red patch of blood on the fabric where his fingers would be. He looked much more relaxed than either Snape or Malfoy. In fact, he looked rather smug, and kept on shooting glances at his now malformed hand. Hermione almost smiled. She knew why he was smug. His wedding band couldn't be worn now.

Hermione's worries about being heard disappeared, only to be replaced by worry over what had happened in the battle. Obviously something had gone wrong. Well... more wrong than a battle was expected to be. The only problem was that she didn't know what.

"Hello everyone," Hermione greeted politely, her voice small.

Five sets of eyes rose to look at her, each one lacking even a subtle hint of happiness. Even Rodolphus, who seemed rather impressed that he was now lacking half his hand, had no happiness in his eyes.

The men all murmured their polite hellos.

An awkward silence ensued where no one really knew how to start.

Hermione turned to look at Snape when she heard him inhale heavily. "I suppose we should start by telling what happened to each of us during the battle."

They all nodded their agreement.

"The battle ran smoothly for me til around sunrise," Snape explained, "Luckily – or unluckily, if you see it that way – I had a clear side this time. I wasn't fighting and attempting to keep my appearance of spy for both sides. The Death Eater's made a beeline for me. Luckily, they were either young, or were imbeciles or both. I took them down easily. Just after sunrise, Bellatrix found me and took me by surprise. She placed the Cruciatus curse on me. The only thing I remember after that is the pain suddenly stopping and realising Fenrir was on top of me, spouting some prattle about how I am a traitor to the Dark Lord –"

Fenrir cut him off with mock offense lacing his gravelly voice, "I'll have you know that prattle was the speech of a lifetime, Snape. Those that weren't fortunate to hear my words about your betrayal were missing out on something great."

A small smirk tweaked Snape's lips, and he gave Fenrir a condescending nod. "My apologies, I must have still been disoriented. All I heard were 'Dark Lord' 'bastard' and 'scum', with a few well chosen swear words in between that shouldn't be spoken in the company of a lady." He stopped with a pointed look to Hermione.

Snape then continued with his tale. "After that, I passed out. I woke up in the hospital wing at around ten in the morning."

"I knocked you out after I gave you the cuts," Fenrir explained. "Bella was screeching at me about stealing her toy so I had to do something. I gave you the cuts, and after fighting with her said that you had died of blood loss. Once she moved off, I sent you to the hospital wing."

Snape nodded to him. "Thank you. I owe you my life."

Fenrir looked rather uncomfortable with the praise, and shifted in his seat, fidgeting slightly.

He brought the attention away from the topic of Snape's life debt to him by saying, "Everything went smoothly for me, just a few cuts and scratches. A lot of stinging hexes sent to me from the Order members. They're going to regret that. No major damage to me otherwise. The other Snatchers took a few lower level Order members back to the Dark Lord, but no one important. They're probably dead now."

He stopped after that, and Hermione frowned in confusion. _A few cuts and hexes?_ That didn't explain the condition he was in this morning...

She didn't breach the subject though.

The members that had spoken then looked around expectantly.

Sensing their prompt, Rodolphus sighed and spoke. "I suppose I'll be next."

He leaned forward, took one last drag of his cigar, and put it down, resting on the ash tray, the end smoking slightly.

"I was taken out early. Hit in the hand with Sectumsempra when I tried to get to Rabastan in time to push him away from a wayward curse." His expression dropped into a sad, contemplative frown. "The curse hit him anyways. He's in treatment, but I don't know much more."

Hermione felt sympathy wash over her. Rodolphus might seem all high and mighty, but he really did care about his brother. He could bitch and moan all he liked about his wife. That much made him seem heartless. After all, what type of man hated his wife? But when it came to Rabastan, Rodolphus was ruthlessly protective. He loved his brother very much.

The attention was then brought to Hermione when all the men turned to her expectantly.

Hermione looked around the room, wondering why they were all staring at her. "What?"

"What happened to you in the battle, Granger?" Snape asked quietly.

"I..." Hermione frowned, her tongue fumbling for words in her confusion. "I... what? What do you mean... in the... battle?"

Snape glared at her and said dryly, "I thought the question was rather obvious."

Hermione ignored him, and instead turned to Fenrir with a small frown. "You didn't tell them?"

Fenrir shrugged noncommittally and sniffed.

Rodolphus looked from Fenrir to her, frowning in confusion as well. "Didn't tell us what?"

Hermione glared at Fenrir. She didn't take her eyes off the werewolf as she growled, "that he knocked me out before the battle could even begin. Apparently I wasn't in a fit condition to protect myself. I only woke up hours ago."

"Oh dear," Rodolphus crooned with a lecherous smile slowly evolving on his face. Hermione couldn't help but cringe away from him and wish she was sitting next to Fenrir. "You're in the dog house now, Fenrir. No pun intended."

"Excuse me?" Fenrir growled in question, a subtle hint of warning in his tone.

Rodolphus didn't get the hint. "Yes. You need to keep her happy Fenrir; otherwise you won't be getting _anything_ from her in return."

Fenrir narrowed his eyes at the pureblood, a low rumble beginning to form low in his chest.

Rodolphus gave Fenrir a cheeky smirk. "You'll be walking around with a hard on for-"

Rodolphus was promptly cut off when Fenrir growled loudly at him. _Back off._

Rodolphus stifled a chuckle, biting his lip, and instead picked up his cigar to take another long drag of it. Hermione scrunched up her nose in distaste. The house still smelt like stale cigar smoke, and she still didn't like it. Thank god for freshening spells.

The mood in the room was considerably lighter as the rest of the group turned to Lucius, who was still standing stiffly, no expression on his face.

"And you, Lucius?" Rodolphus asked with a small smile tugging on his lips.

Lucius audibly swallowed thickly before answering, "I am unharmed by the battle. I fought; I took down some Death Eater's, Amycus Carrow being one of them. Cissa agreed to stay home thankfully. Draco..." his head dropped as his voice broke slightly. Hermione watched as he shut his eyes tight, and she felt dread seep into her. Lucius cleared his throat again and continued, his voice hollow and devoid of life. "Draco... is dead."

A heavy silence fell over the room, the happy attitude having evaporated.

"How?" Fenrir had the guts to ask.

"The Dark Lord. He came to me afterwards and said he had..." a dirty look evolved on Lucius' face as he spat out, "annihilated the blight on my family's honour."

Hermione's stomach dropped with sadness. Draco, foul git that he was, had openly refused to join the Dark Lord. He didn't join the Order, however. He was too proud, and he would never openly defy his father. He instead chose to be a neutral party. He decided not to take part in the war at all. The only time Hermione had ever seen him in issues with the war was when his father was in a rough spot. Draco would always be there to watch Lucius' back. And now he was gone.

Rodolphus' expression was sombre when he murmured, "let us extend our condolences to you and your family, Lucius. I think I speak for everyone when I say we are truly sorry for your loss."

Lucius swallowed thickly once more, and nodded his thanks.

"Does anyone know who else died?" Hermione asked, wanting to divert Lucius' attention away from the death of his son.

She was rendered flabbergasted when Fenrir chuckled with a dark smile on his face. "Stan Shunpike is dead."

All the men shared amused glances, and Hermione swore she missed out on something important. She figured it was some evil wizard thing they shared. She didn't want to go into details.

"I saw Macnair get hit with the killing curse," Lucius murmured quietly, his voice hoarse. "Moody is dead as well."

Hermione felt her stomach drop once again. As gruff as Moody was, he had always been respectful towards her. After finishing school, he had helped Harry, Ron and she to learn some more serious defensive spells. Being who she was, Hermione had spent a lot of extra time with him studying like mad about defensive magic. She had asked him endless questions, asked him to set up spare time to help her practise her spell work, and even encouraged him to set her homework or sorts. He hadn't once gotten impatient with her enthusiasm like some other people would. In fact, he seemed to encourage it. He had always been more respectful towards Hermione, simply because she followed his rule of 'constant vigilance' right from the start without him needing to prompt her. In a way, he had become her mentor. Hermione felt like she had lost her teacher. _Oh, Alastor._

"Do you know what from?" Severus asked, a small frown on his face.

Lucius regarded Severus quietly for a few seconds in silence before he murmured simply. "I killed him."

Hermione felt her eyes widen in horror. Malfoy had killed him? She had the sudden urge to jump up and start shouting various obscenities at him. She quickly looked around to judge how the others were taking the information.

Hermione would have thought that the news of killing someone would have at least surprised the others, but none of the men had even widened their eyes. In fact, Fenrir and Rodolphus looked quite nonchalant. Fenrir was picking dirt from underneath his sharp claws, and Rodolphus was looking at his three-fingered hand with interest.

Their reactions brought her up short, causing her anger to dissipate. She felt unnerved now. Was she really so sensitive that the death of someone she had known affected her so much? Or were they just so brutal that death didn't affect them anymore? Or was it just that they could hide their reactions beneath emotionless masks?

Snape, at least, was looking at Lucius with a disapproving frown. He didn't look surprised though either.

"Did anyone see you do this, Lucius?" Snape asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous hiss.

Lucius narrowed his eyes at Snape in return. "Are you going to lecture me, Severus?"

Snape wasn't cowed by the dangerous stiffening of the elder Malfoy's shoulders, and instead continued. "Yes, if I have to. Don't you realise that if the Order members know that you killed Moody, our agreement will be cut off. We will be regarded as Death Eater's, regardless of whether or not we are working on bringing down the Dark Lord."

"My apologies," Lucius answered bitingly, "It must have slipped my mind. You see, I was rather preoccupied with the death of my son to care who got in my way."

"And so you took your anger out on him?" Snape hissed, his eyes narrowing and his nostrils flaring. Hermione knew that look. It was the one that happened when he was preparing to explode at someone he thought was stupid or below him. Oh dear.

Hermione decided to stop the oncoming confrontation, and so asked, "What is the agreement you reached with the Order?"

All the men looked at her, as if they had just realised she was there.

Snape cleared his throat and answered, "I'm sure you have already figured out that we informed the Order of our actions regarding the downfall of the Dark Lord." At Hermione's nod of acquiescence, he continued, "as you can imagine, some of the other members were... reluctant to trust us. We made a deal with the Order to make things go along more smoothly. They will not treat us as Death Eater's as long as we do not attack them in turn. During battle, we are allowed to send minor hexes to Order members to keep our cover, but if we send anything serious, the treaty is nullified, and we will be treated like enemies in turn."

"So it's basically a safety net," Hermione concluded. "They won't attack you if you won't attack them."

"Exactly," Snape answered with a small nod.

Fenrir then spoke, "Anyone else know someone who died?"

Their attention was brought to Rodolphus who swept his arms out wide, a happy grin stretching his features. Good lord, what on earth was he so happy about?

"My wife is dead," Rodolphus declared with a relief filled sigh.

Ah. That's why he was happy.

Hermione couldn't help the small bubble of happiness that welled up in her belly. Bellatrix was dead. Gone. She knew she shouldn't be happy about someone killing another person, but she really couldn't help herself. Bellatrix was arguably the second most evil person after Voldemort himself. The evil witch had caused more death and mayhem than anyone could imagine, and now she just... wouldn't. She couldn't. She was dead.

"How?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, it was glorious!" Rodolphus gushed, leaning back in his chair leisurely, his hands working in exuberant mannerisms as he talked.

"It was pretty damn good," Fenrir agreed, a contemplative look adorning his features.

"Were you there as well?" Rodolphus asked, one of his brows quirking in interest.

Fenrir nodded simply.

"Were you the one that sent that helmet off a suit of armour pelting around the room?" Rodolphus asked, indignation starting to lace his voice. "That nearly hit me in the head!"

Fenrir smirked, and opened his mouth to reply, but Snape quickly cut in before they could get sidetracked. "What happened to Bellatrix, Rodolphus?"

Both Fenrir and Rodolphus turned to Severus, contemplative looks adorning their features. Fenrir looked happy in fact. Proud, almost.

"It's quite surprising, really," Rodolphus mused, scratching his chin idly, "I thought it would be me, or someone else who did the deed. You should have seen the faces of the Order members when they realised who had killed her. It was brilliant. Good old Minerva McGonagall looked like she was about to faint."

Fenrir chuckled, and Rodolphus joined in after a second or two. The two men shared identical sadistic smiles before Snape turned their attention back to the subject at hand once again.

"Who killed her, Rodolphus? You make it sound as if that airhead Luna Lovegood did it."

Rodolphus smirked at Snape, looking rather superior as he dangled his piece of juicy information over their heads. "He's a close second, I'd say. Wouldn't you agree, Fenrir?"

Fenrir grunted his response, "not really. Remmy has quite the penchant for revenge."

"Who's Remmy?" Hermione asked in bafflement.

As far as she knew, there was no one in the Order who was named Remmy. Perhaps he was a much lower level Order member.

"Remus Lupin," Fenrir clarified with a nonchalant wave of his hand.

Hermione instantly froze. Remus killed Bellatrix? Quiet, kind Remus? No... Surely they were mistaken...

And then a thought hit her.

"What do you mean revenge, Fenrir?" Hermione asked.

Fenrir looked up from his nails, which he had returned to picking the dirt out from under, and regarded her with a sober, emotionless stare.

She didn't miss the hidden hint of sarcasm in his voice as Fenrir said, "Bellatrix killed that _lovely_ little wife of his."

"Tonks?" Hermione squeaked. "Tonks is dead as well?"

Fenrir nodded. His lips curled at her as Hermione visibly shrank into herself.

"Oh, poor Remus," Hermione croaked, feeling shock wash over her.

She idly wondered why she wasn't horrified. Why she wasn't crying, yelling... anything. She and Tonks had grown closer over the years, being the only two girls in the group that really valued education. Tonks had worked hard to become an Auror, and because of this, Hermione had instantly taken a shine to the woman. When Remus had finally allowed Tonks into his life, Hermione had been jubilant. She had nearly suffocated the older woman with her hug when she heard the news.

And now, she just felt... empty. Nothing.

And then a more horrific thought hit her. She gasped, her hand flying over her mouth, her eyes widening. "Oh, poor Teddy!"

And then, as if a door had opened, every emotion came crashing down on her. Tonks was dead. _Tonks._ Remus' wife. Teddy's mother. Her friend. She was dead. Gone. Tonks would never be able to hold her son again, never kiss her husband. They would never again be graced with Tonks' clumsiness. Grimmauld place would be quieter without Mrs. Black's screams when the woman knocked over that horrendous troll's foot umbrella stand. Dinner time would be emptier without her changing faces routine. They'd never catch a flash of colour as she chose to change her hair colour from pink to bright green. Never hear the random snort of laughter as she changed her nose into a pig's snout.

Oh, poor Tonks.

Hermione, hand still covering her mouth in horror, leaned on the wall heavily, shutting her eyes tight as her throat tightened.

Good lord, she was going to cry in front of these men, she just knew it.

"Granger!" she heard Snape's acidic snap.

Hermione flinched, her eyes flying open. A stray tear traced the contours of her cheek as she looked upon the men with wide eyes.

"There's time to mourn later, runt," Fenrir murmured with a frown.

Although he looked disapproving, his actions suggested that he was more supportive than he let on. He held a clawed hand out towards her, palm up, inviting her over to sit where he was. Hermione pushed herself off the wall, swallowing back a small sob, and walked to his side, curling into him as she sat. He wrapped his large arm around her waist possessively, and at that moment Hermione simply wanted to be engulfed by him. To sink into his warmth. To have him hold her, let her cry, and then tell her it would all be alright.

She doubted that would ever happen though.

"Any more questions regarding the battle?" Snape asked around the room, "Or can we move on?"

"I have a few," Hermione murmured quietly, her hands fidgeting uncomfortably in her lap.

Snape prompted her to continue with a rising of a black eyebrow and a small nod.

"Who won?" she asked simply.

Fenrir chuckled at her side. "You've been sitting around all this time, wondering which side won?"

Flustered, Hermione spluttered at him, "Well, I wasn't exactly there to know about what happened, was I?"

Fenrir rolled his eyes and grimaced. "You're going to hold this against me for a while, aren't you?"

Hermione gave him a look that said, ' _obviously_.'

Rodolphus then chose to answer her question. "No one won. The Death Eater's were ordered to retreat. Potter and Dumbledore are still alive, and the Dark Lord still continues his reign of terror on the world."

"He would anyway, regardless of whether or not we killed his body," Hermione mumbled. "We still need to finish off the Horcruxes."

Rodolphus hummed in agreement before he murmured, "It would be so much easier if his corporeal form was killed though. We could destroy the Horcruxes without worrying about him feeling them be destroyed."

"Well," Snape answered, "at least we don't have to worry about him feeling them anymore. The potion's done and administered."

"Then all we need is his essence," Lucius mused, speaking for the first time since he explained about his son's death.

"Done as well," Snape replied with a smug smirk.

He moved for the black robes hanging over his chair, and reached into an inner pocket. He pulled out a clear vial, half filled with blood. On the vial was a name labelled to the glass.

_Tom M. Riddle._


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Things are not as they seem," a term Hermione Granger had heard often. She just didn't realise how greatly it would influence her life, and how it would change it forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance   
Chapter 24

'Back To Grimmauld?'  
.

"How on earth did you get that?" Hermione gasped, her eyes widening yet another time that day.

Snape looked at her, and his smirk broadened before he answered, "It was because of you, actually."

"Me?" Hermione asked, frowning.

Snape nodded. "When you were sent to the hospital wing _sick_ ," Snape's eyes flitted to Fenrir's for a millisecond, narrowing at the werewolf before he continued, "the old bint was still harassing me in her office when Fenrir came barrelling into the wing and made her pass out. That gave me enough time to rifle through her office and the storage room for this." He held up Riddle's vial of blood pointedly.

"So... everything's... done..." Hermione murmured in shock.

The situation was surreal. Voldemort's demise was moving closer and closer, almost too easily, really. All they had to do was find the Horcruxes now. Everything else was done.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Hermione exclaimed, jumping up from Fenrir's side. "Let's perform the spell and get to the first Horcrux."

All the men looked at her, flabbergasted.

"Granger, it is the morning after a battle," Snape sneered, being the first to recover from his shock, "and you want to go out and destroy a powerful dark magical object. We'll die before we can get to it!"

"Oh," Hermione mumbled ineloquently. She had forgotten that the men were probably exhausted from the battle. With a small blush, she sat back down. "Right."

"How about we meet here again in a few days to discuss it further?" Rodolphus suggested.

They all murmured their agreements and fell into a small silence. Hermione took the time to wriggle herself further into Fenrir's side, revelling in the warm glow that grew stronger the closer she got to him. She nuzzled his chest, and in response, she felt his arm come around her waist, encouraging her to continue.

Feeling a little rude, Hermione turned back to the other men and offered, "Would anyone like anything to drink?"

Snape answered almost instantly, "Tea, please."

Hermione nodded and stood, looking at the others for their orders. Rodolphus and Lucius ordered the same. Fenrir simply shook his head, not wanting anything.

Hermione padded into the kitchen and scurried around making tea. Hermione was pouring water into one of the mugs when she heard footsteps enter the kitchen. It obviously wasn't Fenrir since he had no qualms about scaring the life out of her by suddenly popping up randomly. In fact, she was quite sure he enjoyed seeing her just about jump out of her skin when he snuck up on her. The bastard.

She turned around and smiled when she saw that Snape had wandered in the kitchen holding a quill and parchment.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked in concern.

Snape sat at one of the bar stools, and started scribbling on the parchment hurriedly, his shoulders hunched over what he was writing, his nose dangerously close to the parchment. "As well as can be expected."

He then brusquely held the piece of paper out to her. Hermione frowned in bafflement, and took the parchment from him.

.

 _I need to speak with you frankly. Your mate will become angry,_  
but I cannot put a silencing charm around the room because he  
will become suspicious and come to investigate.  
This will be upsetting to him. Do not back down if you agree to  
come with me. I can keep you safe from his ire.

.

Hermione frowned at the word 'mate', but ignored it to continue through the message. By the end, she was frowning in worry. Did Snape think that she was scared of Fenrir? Why on earth would she be in a relationship with him if she was frightened of him?

And then a thought hit her. Did Snape think Fenrir was forcing her into this relationship? Hitting her, forcing her to do every single thing that he did? Well, the indications were there. Fenrir was known for his ferocious tempter, and many women who go through domestic abuse usually won't tell anyone. Snape probably thought that she was too scared to tell him that Fenrir was beating her.

She had to set this straight.

She motioned for the pen, and when Snape gave it to her, scribbled something underneath his message.

.

 _He's not forcing me into this relationship._  
Whatever you have to proposition me with, it is my choice, not his.  
I just want you to know that he hasn't been treating my badly.

_._

Snape looked up at her sceptically, and Hermione knew that he didn't believe her, but he didn't push the subject any further.

"I need to speak with you, Granger," Snape murmured, taking the parchment, and folding it neatly in his front pocket, out of sight.

"What about?" Hermione questioned.

Snape levelled her with a black stare and said, "Moving back to Grimmauld place."

At that moment, Hermione heard a loud snarl emanate from the other room. Her eyes glanced to the door in slight panic, and returned to Snape, prompting him to continue.

"Now that Potter knows you are alive, there is no reason to keep you away from your home. Grimmauld place is also under the Fidelius charm, so you will not be detected. Potter is aware you are alive, and so the Dark Lord knows you have not been thrown from the comfort of the Order."

"Wait," Hermione interrupted, "didn't V- the Dark Lord know that I hadn't been kicked out when he had discovered you had betrayed him?"

Snape shook his head and answered, "No, I managed to convince him that I was simply helping you of my own volition. He realised that I had betrayed him because I had kept you a secret from him. He thought that I had helped you after Dumbledore threw you from the Order ranks due to your apparent betrayal."

"So why did you keep me here after that?" Hermione asked.

Snape gave her a scathing look that said, _you should already know this._ "How on earth were we supposed to work on the potion with Order members crawling about?"

"Oh..." Hermione mumbled, "Right."

Snape simply rolled his eyes and continued, "So now that the potion is complete, Dumbledore knows about what we have been doing, and Potter and Weasley know that you are alive, there is no real reason for you to stay here all alone."

"It would be nice to see the boys again on a regular basis," Hermione mused. "I wouldn't be lonely most of th-"

"You're not going anywhere," snarled a gravelly voice from the doorway.

Hermione's eyes snapped to Fenrir, and widened by the feral look on his face. His hair was standing up on end, his teeth were bared, showing the pointed canines, and his eyes were wild and darting around the room.

When his eyes landed on Snape, he snarled, warning the black-haired man to back off and leave.

Snape stood his ground, glowering back at the werewolf.

"Professor, do you mind if I talk to Fenrir alone for a few minutes," Hermione requested politely, hands clasped in front of her to stop her from wringing them in anxiety.

Snape's head snapped to look at her, his eyes showing something akin to concern in their black depths.

"Please," Hermione added imploringly. She knew that things would not go well if Snape and Fenrir had a confrontation.

Snape exhaled slowly, deflating slightly in defeat, and nodded. With a parting glare to Fenrir, he walked from the kitchen. Fenrir's eyes followed the potion's master til he was out of sight in the living room.

"Fenrir," Hermione called quietly.

His eyes snapped to hers again, a low, angry rumble forming low in his chest as he glared at her.

"You're not leaving," he growled.

Hermione responded almost instantly, "That is not your decision to make."

Fenrir growled at her, a little louder this time. He then spoke, "As your alpha, I choose where you can and can't stay."

"You won't force me to stay here if I don't want to," Hermione answered with conviction. She knew he was simply covering up his dislike for her leaving with his animal instincts. She couldn't get angry with him because she knew that wouldn't get them anywhere. She would have to talk him out of his own argument, which, luckily, was something she was very good at.

"And what makes you say that?" Fenrir asked with a sneer.

"You don't make Remus stay with your pack," Hermione answered. "And I know you want him there. I could see it on your face when you talked about him just now."

Fenrir glared at her, chewing on his tongue. He knew he was trapped, and he didn't like it. Sneaky wench was too clever for her own good. He couldn't dominate her, he didn't even have the urge to. She wasn't defying him. She had simply talked her way out of letting him get what he wanted.

Hermione exhaled slowly and continued, "Look, I get terribly lonely when you're not here. Professor Snape only comes once a week, and I'm lucky if I get to see you for a few days after you've been gone doing whatever it is that you do while you're gone. And you're gone for a long time when you are. If I go and live at Grimmauld place, I won't get as lonely. The Order knows that you're a 'good guy' now, so you can come and visit when you are able to. I just think it will be a good idea if I stay with the boys. Can you imagine being apart from your pack for ten months and not know how or what they're doing?"

Fenrir balked slightly at her last question, his eyes darting to hers in slight panic. She knew he would understand if she put things in reference to his pack.

"I _want_ to go," Hermione murmured finally.

She turned, reheated the tea cups, and levitated them out the room, knowing that they would find their drinkers on their own. She then pocketed her wand, and moved to leave the room, intent on letting him mull over her words.

She was stopped when his hand snapped out and latched onto her arm in a hard grip. It wasn't bruising, but it was enough to stop her from moving away from him.

He looked at her almost pleadingly as he muttered, a tinge of pink suffusing in his cheeks. "I don't want you to go."

Hermione wanted to smile softly at him when she saw such an endearing occurrence as his blushing. How adorable.

"Stay," he whispered, pulling her closer and placing his other hand to the side of her neck, stroking the soft skin of the underside of her jaw with the pad of his thumb. "Don't leave me."

This time Hermione really did smile. Did he think she was leaving him for good? "I'm not leaving you. I..." she shook her head slightly, a blush similar to his tinting her cheeks, "I don't want to."

He gently pulled her to him, pushing her against his chest. He rested his whiskery cheek against her forehead, and embraced her tightly.

"If you leave this house, you are leaving me," he murmured, sending soft vibrations into her skin as he talked. "You are leaving our den. Your scent won't be here anymore when I return. You won't be there to greet me. What has become ours will once again become mine. Don't you see? It'll be empty."

Hermione had to close her eyes at the sorrow in his voice. He sounded like a kicked puppy.

"And yet, you are allowed to leave," Hermione countered softly, not wanting to sound harsh. She didn't want to hurt his feelings. "I sit in this empty cabin for three weeks of the month, and then you come home for one. I'm here seventy-five percent of the time, alone. If this were our den, you wouldn't leave for so long either."

He exhaled heavily. Hermione could feel the warm breath against the skin of her forehead and the arch of her nose. He was stuck, and he knew it.

"I'm not going to be able to dissuade you, am I?" he rumbled resignedly.

Hermione smiled softly against his neck, nuzzling it slightly with her nose in a sign of affection. "I don't want to make you sad, Fenrir. I just want you to realise that I'm more alone than you are when you're gone. At least, when we're not together, you have pack members and people to talk to. I'm stuck here with nothing more than Snape for a few hours if I'm lucky. I need more human contact."

He snorted with distain, " _Humans._ "

"I'm a human," Hermione pointed out. She didn't really know whether to be offended or not.

"You're different," he rumbled, holding her tighter.

Hermione hummed in indication that she had heard him, biting her lip in thought. Eventually she attempted to compromise. "How about I stay with the boys while you're away, but when you can stay for a few days, or even a few hours, you come and get me. We can floo back to the cabin, and spend our time here. That way our smell can stay here somewhat, and you won't have to worry about being with the boys when you see me."

"I suppose," Fenrir murmured reluctantly, "if that's the best I'll get."

Hermione smiled into his neck. He was such a softie. A big teddy bear, really. Everyone said he was malicious, mean, scary - the list went on - but this just proved that he really did take care of those he felt he was responsible for. He hated humans, and didn't have enough patience to give them a second glance, she knew that, but the fact that he would let her go and live in a place he didn't want her to, was enough to prove otherwise. The same was said with Remus' situation. After that night when he had mumbled something about the 'call of her mark', she had quickly deducted that it had something to do with Fenrir's alpha position over them. Obviously those marks exerted some sort of power over them. The fact that he didn't force Remus to return to the pack spoke volumes.

"Thank you," she breathed, kissing the underside of his jaw tenderly.

In response he moved down to nuzzle her temple warmly.

Hermione pulled away from him slightly, just enough to look up at his face. She smiled warmly, and he attempted to do the same, but it didn't reach his eyes and waned quickly. Hermione felt her own smile drop slightly. She'd never seen this side to him before. She'd seen him angry, happy, cheeky, you name it. Sadness was something she had never seen on him before. It brought her great sorrow, as if she was feeling it herself. There was a small bubble of sadness in her chest that wasn't her own.

Hermione bit her lip, and spoke, "Fenrir, I-"

At that moment she was interrupted by Lucius and Snape walking into the kitchen.

Cheeks flushing a dangerous shade of red, Hermione attempted to step back, but Fenrir held her tightly against him, not letting her move. She looked up at him and saw that he was glaring at Snape as if willing him to disappear, and fast. She supposed he blamed Snape for this. For making her, as he said, 'leave him.'

Snape had an ugly look on his face as he once again caught them in a rather compromising position. Lucius looked indifferent, but Hermione didn't really expect him to have a reaction. Not after the death of his son. She figured he'd be a little lifeless from now on.

"We are taking our leave," Lucius announced softly as Rodolphus appeared behind them.

Hermione nodded silently, understanding that they would probably want to go back to their families instead of staying here. Well, Snape probably wouldn't. He didn't have family. The poor man.

"Alright," Hermione murmured, "we'll see you in a few days time, then."

They all nodded. Lucius left without a word, and Rodolphus walked in the kitchen, levitating the empty tea cups into the sink.

Snape paused from leaving, and instead turned to Hermione to ask, "Have you decided to return to Grimmauld place, Granger?"

Hermione felt Fenrir's arms tighten around her, as if begging her to stay. She looked up at him, noticing the subdued look on his face. She really did feel guilty. She answered Snape without taking her eyes off the large werewolf. "Yes, I'll go back to Grimmauld."

"Good," Snape answered shortly. "I will see you two in a few days. Good evening."

With a departing nod of his head, Snape left as well.

Fenrir and Hermione then turned to observe Rodolphus, who was looking at them quite soberly.

Heaving a deep sigh, he strode to the kitchen door.

With all the world's seriousness on his face, Rodolphus looked at them and said, "I'm disappointed in you two. Surely you can remember a silencing charm before you rut like animals with three men in the other room."

Hermione felt her mouth drop open in horror. Oh, dear god, no...

Rodolphus grinned cheekily, and quickly ducked down the hall before Hermione could do any damage to his person for the comment.

The last thing Rodolphus heard before he apparated was a shrill shriek coming from the direction of the cabin, " _THEY HEARD ME SCREECH OUT MY ORGASM AND YOU'RE STANDING THERE LAUGHING?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I loaded this onto the site, I skimmed through the chapters and realised... Hermione I such a little BRAT in this story! God, how could you guys stand it?!  
> I'm hoping it’s not so painful when I start uploading the second part in the trilogy...


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Harry Potter series is owned by J.K. Rowling. In no way do I claim her original characters, settings, or plots as my own. I make no money from this story. Original characters, original plots, and werewolf culture are my own work.

Recalcitrance  
Chapter 25

'Terminus'  
.

Hermione hadn't talked to him for the rest of the day. Fenrir had tried to use all types of persuasion on her. Kissing her, fondling her, asking her questions that she often wouldn't be able to resist answering. Even out of desperation, he offered to answer questions about his past – whether or not he answered them was another thing though.

Instead of reacting to him, she had simply just ignored his very presence. Acting as if he wasn't even there. If it weren't such a frustrating situation, Fenrir would have commended her for her abilities.

Dinner time came, and Hermione, as usual, was preparing dinner when a pair of large arms came around her waist. Hermione stiffened, a scowl blackening her face.

Fenrir rested his chin on the top of her head. He would have done it on her shoulder, but since she was so tiny, he would have had to practically crouch in order to do it successfully. Even when resting his chin on her head, he had to bend a little.

"You still not talking to me?" Fenrir rumbled in question.

The only response he received was a haughty sniff. She continued buttering the bread, a little more violently than Fenrir thought the bread deserved.

Fenrir chuckled, and pulled away to sit at the table. With a heavy clunk on the wood, he dropped his feet onto the tabletop, crossing one ankle over the other. A thick silence ensued where Hermione studiously ignored him, and Fenrir stared at her work.

After a while, she turned, and made her way into the pantry. Half way there, she suddenly stopped and sent him a sinister glare before continuing. The look said, _'you'll be lucky to survive the night.'_

Fenrir heard rustling and clunking coming from the pantry before a frizzy head popped out, soon followed by a lusciously curved body. In her hand was a single jar.

Determined to get her to react to him, Fenrir plastered a wicked smirk on his face, and stood with an animal-like grace. Before she knew what was happening, Fenrir was looming over her, and had plucked the jar out of her hand, holding it just beyond her reach.

Hermione's hand snatched out like a wild animals, her fingers curled into claws as she waved her hand above her head, trying to reach the small jar.

She practically wrestled Fenrir for the jar, hanging her whole weight off the arm poised above her head. He just held her with her feet dangling above the ground, an amused look on his face. She even went so far as to kick him in the shins. He kicked hers in return, though much more softly than he would have anyone else.

She hopped around on one foot, her damaged shin stinging. With a feral growl, she barked, "Give it back!"

"Oh, you're talking to me now, are you?" Fenrir asked with feigned surprise.

An angry huff followed his question, and Fenrir watched as the little woman in front of him crossed her arms underneath her chest, pushing her breasts up and together in a tantalising fashion. He licked his lips, thoughts of what he was able to do to her now running through his dirty mind. That effect was lost though, when he looked up to her face and saw the petulant glare she was giving him.

With an arrogant sniff, he lifted the jar to see what she had gotten. His cocky smirk fell, however, when he was the label glued to the glass.

Horror washed over him like ice water. Oh, hell no.

Fenrir looked up at her, his eyes wide with a revolted expression on his face. "The fuck is this?"

Hermione simply quirked her eyebrows, and continued glaring at him as if he were a particularly revolting cockroach.

Fenrir shook his head, placing the jar down on the table and wrenching his hand away as if burned.

He shook his head from side to side rapidly and growled, "I'm not eating that crap. Make something else."

Hermione glared at him as she murmured menacingly, "then you can go hungry because I'm not making anything else."

Fenrir pursed his lips, one of his eyes twitching slightly. Hermione had to resist the urge to laugh. He looked so flustered.

"Besides," she continued, "you need the carb's, and you're not going to get any with that beloved meat of yours."

Fenrir stared down at her, thinking hard. "Will you talk to me if I eat it?" As he said ' _it_ ,' his face scrunched up into a revolted grimace.

A corner of Hermione's lip twitched upwards before she murmured, "yes."

In truth, she desperately wanted to see if he would react to the paste like she thought he would. Obviously he had eaten it before since he was so averse to it. She just wanted to see if it had the desired effect on him.

He had explained to her a while back that he easily got food poisoning from chocolate. Naturally, she was now curious if he would have the same reaction to this particular food.

She jumped in fright when she found herself wrapped within large arms once again. She hadn't even heard him move. Hermione turned her head to glare at him, though she wasn't particularly angry with him anymore. This time it was just one of pure annoyance. _How on earth did he move around so silently?_

Fenrir dipped his head so that his nose skimmed along the skin stretching over the dip behind her jaw.

"Cant I at least have something other than peanut butter on the bread?" Fenrir mumbled against her skin.

He whimpered like a dog begging for treats, and nuzzled her head playfully.

Hermione felt her shoulders twitching with the effort to withhold a chuckle.

"There's no other spreads unless you just want butter on your bread," she murmured with a small smirk, not bothering to look up from spreading the peanut butter around the bread. "You do a terrible dog impersonation by the way. You're too big and tough to whimper."

She immediately regretted her words after. She could feel Fenrir puff himself up with male pride, a low, satisfied rumble forming within his chest. She wouldn't be surprised if his head started swelling as well.

"Mm," Fenrir hummed against Hermione's skin, slowly shuffling behind her til he pressed himself against her smaller form as best he could, his shoulders hunched over her slightly in a protective and possessive manner. The movement was clearly demonstrated to show just how big and tough he really was. Like a dog puffing himself out for all the onlooking females.

He towered over her by almost a foot, and his girth doubled hers easily. She was no twig either. She had never been one to follow those stupid teenage trends. She liked her food too much, and besides, she hardly cared for lavender browns not-so-subtle remarks about how Hermione should 'tone herself'. In other words, _Lav-Lav_ thought Hermione was fat. Hermione thought the opposite about the twig. Honestly, at one point she became worried if the girl would be blown over if a light breeze gusted at the wrong – or right – time.

It was funny, though, how Hermione was starting to understand Fenrir's actions more and more. She was almost certain that if he had thrashed her around as much as he did after she had punched him at the beginning, she would have been scared out of her wits. She would be terrified of him. Now, she simply understood that it was a base reaction for him. She punched him, physically attacked him, and so he did the same in return. He dominated her, and thrashed her around a bit to show her that he was bigger and tougher than she was. If she wanted to take him on, then she'd better be careful because he would tear her to shreds easily. He was the boss, and no one could dispute that without being taught a very valuable lesson about respect.

The same was happening in the situation now. His towering over her wasn't an intimidating act of domination. He wasn't reminding her of her place beneath him.

This act was one of reassurance. He was always there to protect her. He was the big, tough male, and any possible threats would have to get through him if they wanted to get to her.

It was also showing that he was the biggest male around, and he was proud of it. He was the most eligible candidate for passing on his genetics because he is the most likely to survive. His towering over her showed that if she mated and had children with him, then her offspring would be successful, and she would be protected. He was the best option to mate with.

It was a strange sort of mating dance, really.

Hermione's eyes popped a little when she felt his hips start to move against her. _Oh, this was definitely a mating dance._

His head dipped lower to skim along her new 'Orgasm Bite,' as she had deemed to name it, and a heavy jolt ran down through her body. It didn't have the same effect as it did earlier because she was not as aroused as before. But it still brought a rather welcome heat to the juncture between her thighs.

She squirmed a little, trying to squish down the growing sense of arousal that was winding its way into her being, and instead, told herself that she still wanted to see him eat the peanut butter before they went and did any other pleasurable activities.

It was her revenge. There were, in fact, other spreads she could have put on the bread, three actually, but none of them would make him squirm as much as peanut butter did. And she didn't bring up the fact that he could just put meat on the bread to him because that option seemed to have completely flown over his head. She wasn't about to bring it up to him and miss her opportunity to see him eat the peanut butter.

It was at that moment that she turned around in his arms with a short, affectionate, "later," and pressed his plate of three sandwiches into his hands. She then added kindly, "I'll make you some meat after to wash the apparently disgusting taste away."

Fenrir looked down at the sandwiches as if they had personally offended him in some way, but he took them in any case, and headed for the dining table. As he walked away, Hermione heard him mutter something about the taste not being the bad part. She felt the corners of her mouth twitching upwards in a slightly evil smile.

She had to hand it to him though. At any other time he probably would have chucked the sandwiches out the window with a snarl and demanded she cooked his meat instead. She supposed he was only doing this because she was angry at him, and for a good reason! Three men heard her screeching like a banshee as Fenrir brought her to a strangely powerful orgasm. That may seem comical to people that it hadn't happened to, but to her, the _victim_ , it was simply embarrassing. She didn't want anyone other than her partner to hear her sounds while having an intimate moment.

It didn't help that Fenrir was in the proverbial dog house either. This was just icing on the cake, really. First, he knocks her out so she wouldn't be able to fight, and then he does _that_.

Hermione figured that giving him peanut butter as punishment was letting him off easy. Naturally she didn't really count her punching him as punishment since he got his own revenge on her straight after she did it.

And she really did want to see how he would react when it stuck to the roof of him mouth.

As predicted, the meal was rather sticky, and quite fun to watch and be a part of. The peanut butter stuck to the roof of Hermione's mouth, but she didn't mind nearly as much as Fenrir did about it. She could see him struggling not to make it obvious that he was licking the paste off the roof of his mouth. His jaw was shut tight, his teeth clearly clenched together.

When the time came to eat the second sandwich, Fenrir had relaxed somewhat since Hermione wasn't watching him with avid fascination anymore. she glanced up a few times to see his jaw working to remove the paste from the corners of his mouth, the muscle of his tongue poking little bubbles in his cheek as he used it to clear out any peanut butter behind his lips.

When the third one came, Fenrir had visibly relaxed and was playing with his food like a little kid with a nice treat. His eyes were shining with boyish humour as he got his fingers all sticky with the brown paste while he pulled his sandwich into little slivers. He then gobbled them up with gusto.

Hermione brought his attention to her by brushing the arch of her foot against his lower leg.

His eyes snapped up to hers as if just realising that she was there, and Hermione watched as the twinkle of amusement in his eyes dimmed somewhat.

Before he could get all snarly and defensive at her, Hermione asked softly, "why don't you eat it more often when you like it so much?"

Fenrir looked down at his plate of mutilated sandwich, and frowned before answering in a low growl, "I don't like the connotations that come with it. My being a werewolf, people would instantly assume that I react to peanut butter in the same way that dogs would. I'm not so theatrical that I would lick my chops with every bite of the stuff. I eat it like any other _human_ would." he spat out the word 'human' as if it were a pile of rotten food crawling with slimy maggots.

Hermione smiled at him gently, once again rubbing her foot against his calf, feeling the soft fabric of his pants bunch upwards. Yes, his clothes were _soft_ now. Hermione had taken the liberty of cleaning his clothes as well. She didn't go anywhere near that cloak of his, though. That peace of blood encrusted fabric was his precious. She knew that if she dared to wash away the evidence of his kills then she would be in for a world of hurt.

"A wise man once told me," Hermione murmured softly with a small knowing smile on her face, "that I should not care about what others think."

She smiled at him reassuringly, recognising the small flash of realisation in his eyes as she used his own words against him. "If you enjoy peanut butter, then go ahead and eat it. Don't let what the connotations that go with it get to you."

Fenrir growled low in his chest and pushed the plate away from him violently. "I'm not a little puppy dog. I don't eat peanut butter; I don't let people swat me on the nose with newspapers. I don't sit. I don't fetch. I do what I want, when I want."

Hermione frowned slightly as realisation hit her.

 _Ah._ Hermione realised what his real fear was. It wasn't the peanut butter itself and how he would react to it. The issue was more about how he was scared to fall into the restraints of a domesticated life. She knew he would never function under the stresses of a ' _normal_ ' life. He most certainly wouldn't be able to hold down a job. He didn't cope well with being bossed around at all. If he owned his own business then he would probably end up killing more of his customers and employees than selling whatever product he chose to sell. She knew that sort of life didn't suit him. She didn't expect him to lead that life either.

Hermione had to admit that a little part of her _wanted_ him to whisk her away to his pack and never return to real life. Despite being a naturally ambitious person, Hermione was starting to dread going back to a normal life once this war was over. Honestly, what on earth was she meant to do after being a war heroine? Maybe become a librarian.

She had the face the fact that life would be horribly mundane after the war ended. She needed something _more_. She needed some excitement in her life. Not the violent, run for your life, type of excitement, but the excitement of the unknown. Learning new things, exploring new avenues.

Hermione decided to try and consol him. She rubbed her foot slowly up and down his calf now, watching for the darkening in his eyes that hopefully would soon occur. Best to have him lustful than angry. "You're not going to seem tame if you eat peanut butter. You're still just as ferocious as before. I simply now know that you're a werewolf who enjoys his peanut butter."

Fenrir levelled her with a stare, his eyes boring into hers as if he were trying to decide whether or not to believe her.

Eventually, he gave her a curt nod, and continued eating what was left of his sandwich, though there was a definite lack of enthusiasm this time.

Fenrir ushered her to bed very soon after dinner. She could see that he was tired. There were dark rings under his eyes, and the usual twinkle of energy within them had severely diminished. All in all, he looked exhausted. Hermione didn't blame him. He had been fighting all day and night, and she had been sleeping comfortably in her bed while everyone else risked their lives.

A scowl that was threatening to become a common occurrence enveloped Hermione's face as she continued attempting to read her book. She still couldn't get over the fact that he had the audacity to forcibly remove her from the battle. _That rat bastard!_

Taking a deep breath, Hermione forced herself to calm down. It wouldn't do to get angry again. He had taken her away from the battle, and there wasn't anything else she could do about it except try to convince him not to do it again when the final battle finally arrived.

Her head snapped around when she felt the bed dip, her heart jolting to her throat into surprise. She released a long breath when she saw Fenrir sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to her as he slipped his clunking steel-capped boots from his large feet.

He never ceased to amaze her with his ability to stay insanely quiet whilst moving. She noticed more and more now that he was becoming quieter whilst moving around her. she often didn't hear his feet moving around the cabin, or the swish of his pants around those insanely long legs of his like she had used to. it had taken her a while to realise that it wasn't so much as he found it amusing to scare her out of her wits when he snuck up on her, but more that he was relaxing around her. He didn't feel the need to make unnecessary noises to alert her of his presence, and make her more comfortable. After this revelation, Hermione found that she didn't quite mind him sneaking around the house so much.

She also liked the mischievous smile on his face when he did purposefully sneak up on her. She liked seeing him smile, and once this war was over, she promised herself that she would venture to make him smile at least once every day.

She quickly returned to 'reading' her book when she noticed Fenrir starting to turn and get into the bed properly.

For once in her life, Hermione was finding it hard to actually read a book. This one she _just knew_ Rodolphus had sent her. It was one of those smutty romance novels that women claimed weren't porn but they really were porn. Honestly, Hermione couldn't understand how people couldn't see the fact that they _were_ porn. The... detail that went into certain scenes definitely gave enough indication to such a phenomenon. There were even points where she would literally be rendered speechless by the carnal acts that the characters conducted in. _how on earth was that even possible?_

"What're you reading, runt?"

Hermione closed her book with a snap when she felt Fenrir's presence over her shoulder.

She could feel her cheeks flushing a dangerous shade of red as she spluttered out an answer, "n-nothing!"

"Doesn't look like nothing," Fenrir rumbled as he plucked the book out of her hands with inhuman speed.

Hermione spluttered in embarrassment as she snatched for the book, only for him to rumble an amused chuckle at her antics and hold the book beyond her reach as he read out a few random lines.

"His glorious manhood bounced free, the tip oozing with- _are you reading porn?_ "

Hermione groaned in horror, covering her burning face with her hands and shaking her head into them. "Oh, this is not happening."

Fenrir's face cracked into an amused grin, his eyes crinkling as his lips stretched from ear to ear.

"Goodness, runt, who knew you were such a dirty girl?" Fenrir asked as he leant back in his pillows.

Hermione watched in mortification as Fenrir feigned concentration, a thoughtful frown on his face as he skimmed over the pages.

Eventually he blurted out an incredulous, " _how is that even possible?_ '

Oh, thank god! She wasn't the only one who had issues with the scenes in the book!

"I know, right!" Hermione agreed enthusiastically, a disbelieving bark of laugher escaping her.

Fenrir smiled wolfishly at her and murmured pointedly, "you're the one reading it. Surely you must know how this stuff works." he waved the book around to point out what 'stuff' he was talking about.

Hermione's blush threatened to disappear beneath the neckline of her shirt. "It's the only book I have left that I haven't read!"

" _That's_ not possible," Fenrir scoffed, "there isn't a book in the universe that you haven't devoured."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him in frustrated anger. "Oh, so I've read every porn novel imaginable, have I?"

"How else could you have gotten so good at sucking me off?"

"Oh, I don't know!" Hermione hissed, flustered. "Talent?"

Fenrir scoffed, enjoying the way her hair had started to frizz and crackle as she got more and more angry. "Impossible."

" _Impossible?_ " Hermione repeated through pursed lips. Her eye twitched. "I'll show you impossible!"

With an angry huff, Hermione flung herself across the bed and on top of him. Fenrir's eyes popped slightly as Hermione hurriedly sat up, straddling him, and pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her pert breasts.

She sat there scowling at him, shirtless.

With a low growl she ordered, "Take it back."

Still eyeing those lovely mounds on her chest, Fenrir managed to babble out an airy answer, "Take what back?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

Fenrir blinked owlishly, his brain still struggling to process how they had gone from bickering to her being naked and on top of him. Not that he was complaining, of course.

Sluggishly, his hands came up to rest on her hips.

Is this how he got her to initiate a round of sex? Question her prowesses?

He felt his cock twitch within the confines of his pants.

A lazy, utterly lecherous grin engulfed his face. Angry sex. This was good.

He laid back, intent on letting her vent her... er... _frustration_ on him. He didn't want to uh... _get in her way._ Best just let her do it by herself. Yes, that was absolutely the best way to go about doing this.

With a slightly smug grin, Fenrir laid back on the pillows, folding his hands behind his head as he looked at the woman currently straddling his hips.

"Go on then," he prompted, "show me just how talented you are."

Hermione simply continued to scowl at him. Fenrir could practically see the cogs whirring in her head as she contemplated what to do next. His grin widened when he realised that she really hadn't thought this through before she went ahead and did it.

After a few minutes Hermione simply let out a prim sniff, and moved to get off him. Fenrir's smile dropped faster than a rain droplet plummeting to earth. _No_ , that wasn't how it was meant to go!

He resisted the urge the whine like a puppy being refused his treats.

-0-0-0-0-

Despite the natural urge to finally consummate their mateship, Fenrir was just too tired to do much about Hermione's defiance. After a bit of whinging and tugging on her hair, Hermione eventually noticed that, despite his being fully erect, the rest of his body just wasn't up to the task of a sexual encounter.

She took pity on the poor wolf, and gave him pleasure with soft, languid touches, drawing his pleasure out of him with her tongue and hands. She engulfed him in her heat, caressing him, protecting him. It was the most excruciating, and the most liberating feeling Fenrir had ever felt. Never before had someone been so _gentle_ around him. It was always hard and rough, animalistic.

Hermione gained her own pleasure through the sight of his eyes half lidded, his limbs heavy and splayed on the bed. His soft sighs were like music to her ears.

In the grand total of three times they had given pleasure to each other in this way, never before had it been so gentle. He would always be so rough and demanding. He would growl instead of sigh. He would demand instead of ask.

It was refreshing, and just a little too sweet to happen often. His being gentle was like a block of chocolate. If you had the whole bar in one go, you would be stumbling around looking for a toilet to heave your guts out into. But if you had a small piece every now and then, it could be the most carnal of pleasures.

She doubted it would become a common occurrence anyways. Fenrir was bone tired, that much was obvious since he didn't go all alpha wolf on her when she decided to jump on top of him when he scoffed at her sexual prowess's (the bastard). If he had enough energy, she was sure he would have, as quick as lightning, rolled over so that _he_ was on top of _her._ He was the alpha, and a submissive mate should never be on the top.

When he finally climaxed with a slightly ragged sigh, his hips arching to push into her further, Hermione drew out his pleasure, stroking him til he became flaccid once more, and swallowed his bitter come with relish. It wasn't so much the taste that she loved, but more the fact this is was _his_ come that she was swallowing. The thought of a little piece of him inside her made her just that little more delighted that she was his, as corny and 'teenage drama' as all that sounded.

Hermione gently tugged his pants off his legs, determined to make him as comfortable as possible. He really had been through a lot in the past twenty four hours. She sure was glad she never had to pretend to follow Voldemort and then work against him at the same time. She would get so flustered that she was sure, if she had been put in the same position as he was in, she would be caught within the first twenty-four hours of her betrayal.

She watched with fascination as Fenrir stretched his legs out after she pulled his track pants off, his toes tensing and arching away from each other as he stretched his feet.

They were big feet too. At least twice the size of hers, with long, yellowing toenails that were not, in fact, clawed. She supposed it would be kind of hard to have claws on your toes when you were wearing shoes all the time.

Hermione's eyes then followed up the path of his calves and thighs. He was muscular in the legs, just like everywhere else. They too were rather long compared to hers, but she was just short in general so that didn't really count. She was sure that when she lay beside him, her feet would only reach half way down his calf, and that was if she was to align their hips together. Naturally, being the big, testosterone-filled male that he was, his legs were spattered with thick dark hairs.

Then came his sex. She certainly eyed that fifth appendage appreciatively, even though it was now deflated and lacking life. She idly ran her fingers up the trail of hairs that ran along his navel and stopped just short of his belly button. Gods, she loved that trail of hair. It was just so sexy. She didn't know why though... she figured it was just some sort of kinky turn on she had about her. Again, she watched in fascination as his belly tensed and sucked itself in slightly at her touch, before relaxing once more.

Out of sheer cheekiness, Hermione dipped her finger in his belly button and wriggled it around, watching as he swallowed back a low growl and squirmed away from her. She giggled evilly, and continued on her exploration.

She traced the V of his love handles, palming the bulging muscles with glittering amber eyes.

She then moved up to Fenrir's sculpted belly, her fingers dipping in and out of each and every groove of his abdominal muscles. Watching as he twitched slightly when she ran her fingers on the undersides of his pecks and over his nipples.

His shoulders and chest were so wide that Hermione was actually surprised he was able to fit through the door. She was also sure that if she really wanted to, she could sleep on that chest quite comfortably.

His hair was as dirty and tangled as ever, but she loved it nonetheless. She loved the colour and lustre it had about it. The dark brown timbre to the strands had almost a purple tinge to them, and if hit in the right light, they would burn with a coppery sheen.

Hermione brushed away his hair to set sight on a pair of pointed ears, ones that looked more animalistic than elven. Elves ears were much longer than Muggles liked to concoct. They were almost rabbit like, though still pointed at the end and hairless, obviously. They were faced sideways with the pinna covering at least half of the top portion of the ear. They were low set, and ran to the backs of the head, curving around the skull slightly. Fenrir's were simple human ears with a small point to them.

Fenrir's brow was heavy, which Hermione particularly liked since it made him seem all that more masculine. His nose was as straight as ever, which made her wonder constantly since she knew he got into quite a few scuffles. How on earth _didn't_ he have a crooked nose? Surely he must have broken it at some point.

His lips, kissable as ever, were as perfect as they had ever been, if not more so now that she knew what he could do with them. The bottom one was slightly plumper than the top, though they were both quite thin as a set.

Hermione knew that behind those lips were a set of rather pointy canines, sharper than the average humans. Now that her teeth rivalled his own, Hermione felt just a little more in league with him. After being exposed to Fenrir's inhuman qualities, most of which were immeasurably superior to her own, Hermione was often left behind feeling just a little bit weak. Being a Gryffindor, Hermione hated that feeling.

Hermione's eyes finally met his, and noticed that he was watching her lazily. His eyes were half lidded, but they were sparkling with warmth as they regarded her.

He released a low rumble, like a soft, happy growl from deep within his chest, and his hand slowly rose to tangle in her hair, something that he just loved doing. Hermione smiled down at him softly.

Finally, he murmured, "Should get some sleep, runt. I'm tired."

Hermione frowned minutely, biting her lip in a nervous habit. Fenrir watched her do it, and his eyes slowly rose from the indolent half-mast they had been set to previously, to wide open.

"I was... thinking maybe," Hermione murmured slowly, "maybe, I could... take watch?"

Fenrir growled lowly, propping himself up on his elbow so that he was eye-level with her. She sat up as well, cross legged, brushing hair out of her face.

"No," Fenrir growled. "Not going to happen, no."

Hermione held her hands up to stop him. "Fenrir, please just listen."

The werewolf pursed his lips and stopped his impending rant, only because she looked so imploring with that cute little face of hers.

"I..." Hermione started, biting her lips nervously once again. She wanted to say this _right_. She wanted to get through to him that he didn't need to do all the protecting all the time. "Fenrir, I..."

She cleared her throat and attempted to start again. "Do you remember when you explained the need to stay up after me to protect me?"

At his slow nod, she continued, "and, do you remember when I said that I needed to protect you after the battle?"

Again he nodded, looking confused. Hermione frowned as mumbled incoherently at her jumbled questions.

With a slightly exasperated sigh, Hermione finally scooted closer to him, and took his clawed hand in her own, fiddling with his fingers so she didn't have to look him in the eye. She hated the nervous, utterly shy feelings that engulfed her when it came to speaking about personal issues such as this.

She was completely out of her comfort zone here.

"I guess..." Hermione murmured quietly, her head bowed, eyes pinned on the back of his large hand, "I guess what I'm trying to say is that... ever since I met you, there's been a rising _feeling_ within me. Not something emotional. It's more animal. The _need_ to protect you. It's..." her eyes darted up to his before dropping again as she flushed in embarrassment, "it feels so... _vicious._ I can hardly contain myself. When I woke up this morning, it felt like... my world had been ripped in two. Like the fact that you weren't in it, the fact that I was completely helpless against possibly saving you... it felt like my lungs had collapsed and my heart had pushed up into my throat."

She took a deep breath and finally raised her eyes to his, the emotion in them making Fenrir's heart swell.

With a low, nervous chuckle, Hermione murmured, "I'm not very good at saying this stuff, am I?"

Fenrir smiled lowly at her, and brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face. "You're perfect."

Hermione leaned into his hand with a warm smile, and covered it with her own smaller one. She pressed a gentle kiss into his palm before she murmured, "what I'm trying to say is that... I feel the need... to protect you... not only in battle, but always. I want to take watch tonight."

The smallest of frowns made its way onto his face, but he didn't say anything otherwise.

When he still didn't answer her, Hermione reasoned, "I slept all of last night while you were out in the battle and for most of the day today as well. I have much more energy than you do at the moment, so I will be able to stay more alert than you will."

Fenrir's frown deepened. "Yes, but I can hear things you can't. Your senses are too dull. You will only be able to detect danger when it's practically on top of you."

Hermione shook her head frantically. "No, I can go in my Animagus form."

Fenrir's face seemed to clear after that, but he still looked hesitant.

"Please," Hermione pleaded softly, squeezing the hand held to her cheek. "Just for tonight."

Fenrir sighed tiredly, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Fine. But you must stay in your Animagus form."

A blinding smile engulfed her face, and before he knew it, Hermione's lips had found his in a gentle, yet surprisingly passionate kiss. It was a thank you kiss, and Fenrir found that he liked it very much. The gratitude he felt poring off of her was enough for him to want to do something nice for her again so she would give him another kiss like that.

Was this what he would get whenever he did something that she wanted?

She pulled away with another bright smile and in a matter of seconds, a fluffy red Borochi was sitting in front of him, its ears perked happily, its amber eyes glittering, and its short tail wagging happily, creating muffled thumping sounds on the bed.

Fenrir smirked happily once more at the sign of the attractive little wolf. She would make a fine werewolf if her Animagus form was anything to go by.

Hermione keened at him as she moved to curl up into his side. Fenrir rolled over and draped his arm lazily over the little wolf, feeling sleep start to drag him under. He hadn't slept in thirty-nine hours. Sleep was good...

Sleep was very good...

As Hermione turned into her animal form. She was hit with a series of animalistic urges, most of them small and nudging at the edges of her conscience, but a few were there, right in the forefront of her mind, nagging her.

The first was that she realised just what he had meant about grooming her. She looked down at her future mates arm and felt the powerful urge to wash him. The feeling wasn't that similar to his. Hers was more of a need to clean him, to take care of him like a good mate would. To clean him because he was _hers,_ and no other little bitch should even come close to sniffing around him, hoping to be mounted.

The first lick was hesitant, as if waiting for him to have a bad reaction to what she was doing. But after that, Hermione continued with long, languid laps at his salty skin, washing away the dirt on him, and instilling her scent into his skin.

After that, it was as if a floodgate of different animalistic emotions rushed through her. Hermione paused in grooming him, idly registering his low growl for her to continue, but she couldn't just yet. She needed to sort everything out, to compartmentalise her thoughts until they were just a little bit more ordered. She didn't like things to be jumbled.

It had been quite a while since she had changed into her animal form, and the sudden change from human to animal was quite stressful of her psyche.

Oddly, the one thought that brought her back to herself was the memory of the day that she had first tried her selective Animagus transformation. That day, she had shouted at him, challenged his being a freak, and in a way had learnt to accept her weirdness through the incident as well.

It was also the day that she had believed herself in love with him.

Now, however, she knew that wasn't the case. Hermione supposed she was confusing love with companionship. Fenrir was the only person that she saw regularly, and so she didn't want him to leave.

She hated herself in a way because of this. Was so just so vapid that she had completely confused love with loneliness? It was almost like a teenage crush.

Love is an all-consuming emotion, where ones being radiates fondness for that special person. It was blind in a way, when one person just couldn't see the flaws in another, or just simply overlooked them because the good parts were just that much better.

Hermione hadn't felt that for Fenrir at the time. Now, however, she was starting to. She felt a fierce protectiveness towards him, that much was for sure. And she certainly was considering spending her life with him. The small tid-bits of information that she had gained about his pack over time made his life seem more and more intriguing to her.

It was at that moment that Hermione questioned her feelings for the large werewolf.

What did she feel for him?

Was this something serious, or was it just lust?

With worried eyes, the stilt-legged fox twisted its head around, and gazed upon the sleeping man at her side.

Something akin to a frown occurred on the canid's face. What was this relationship to him? He was certainly protective of her. He was extremely possessive as well... but who wasn't to say that this was just a short tryst for him? Would he get bored of her soon and chuck her out like next week's trash?

With a low sigh, Hermione's furry head, lowered til she rested it on his chest, feeling his steady, yet slightly faster heartbeat beneath his skin.

At the steady _thump-thump_ of his heart, Hermione relaxed and came to a conclusion.

Despite whatever he felt, she couldn't deny that she didn't love him, but she was well on her way to being so.

Utterly, unabashedly, and entirely.

**Author's Note:**

> Due to FF nets humongous site sweep, I have decided to permanently relocate myself here. You can find all my works here, lemons and violence included.


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